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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 

































MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 


Other Mystery Stories for Girls 

BY 

NINA BROWN BAKER 

THE RANEE’S RUBY 
THE CHINESE RIDDLE 
THE SECRET OF HALLAM HOUSE 
THE CINDERELLA SECRET 






rr Look, Pat, isnt this adorable?” 












MYSTERY 

AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 




NINA 



BAKER 

\\ 


Illustrations by 

RUTH KING 


LOTHROP, LEE & SHEPARD COMPANY 

BOSTON 1939 NEW YORK 





Copyright 1939, by 

LOTHROP, LEE AND SHEPARD COMPANY 

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be re¬ 
produced in any form without permission in writing 
from the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes 
to quote brief passages in connection with a review 
written for inclusion in magazine or newspaper. 





■> * 


i r 

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


©ClA 1 32627 

OCT 11 1939 


FOR 

LADY BEATRICE GRAHAM 

The Present-Day Chatelaine of 
“Four Chimneys” 








CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

I 

II 

III 

IV 

y 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

x 

XI 

XII 

XIII 


PAGE 

9 

22 

39 

59 

81 

. 104 

. 118 
. 136 

. 162 
. 176 

. 201 
. 226 
. 250 














w u BW P flJW ffl w r v* J9 * 



pat *> 


I 

Anne and Patricia Patterson, hurrying home 
from their separate schools, met at the garden 
gate. As they walked up the path together, Pa¬ 
tricia wrinkled her nose rapturously. 

“It can’t be—and yet I’d swear it is!” she ex¬ 
claimed. “Sniff hard, Sis, and see if you smell 
what I smell?” 

“I do smell something, but why does it make 
me think of a broken arm? Oh, I know now. 
That time winter before last, when you tangled 
up with your skates—” 

“And had to stay in with a broken arm, and 


9 







10 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Mother took a week off from the office to stay 
with me. Every day, every single day, she made 
me doughnuts. It’s the first and only time in my 
life I ever got enough. Real ones, I mean. I 
don’t count the ones I get at the school cafeteria, 
or at Mrs. Fischer’s bakery either. Mums makes 
the only real ones, but she almost never has time. 
Oh, look, I can see her through the kitchen win¬ 
dow! Do come on!” 

The girls raced around the side of the small 
house and burst in at the kitchen door. 

After the raw gray chill of the late February 
afternoon, the kitchen glowed warm and bright. 
Waves of cinnamon-rich fragrance rushed out to 
meet them. A huge pile of fat crusty brown 
rings lay draining on white paper. Mrs. Patter¬ 
son, long fork in hand, stood over a bubbling 
kettle. 

“Doughnuts—oh, Mother, you angel!” 

Pat threw her books on the table and rushed 
to the stove. 

“Did you fry me some holes, darling? It’s been 
so long since you made them—you didn’t forget 
and roll them back in the dough, did you? Oh, 
bless you, here they are!” 

She found her own special pile of small round 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 11 

cakes and sank her strong teeth into the crisp 
crust. “Oh, are these yummyl” she cried ecstati¬ 
cally. 

“One at a time, sweetheart.” Mother, her 
pretty face pink from the heat, her chestnut hair 
loosened into little tendrils, turned to smile at her 
quiet older daughter. 

Anne had stopped a minute to hang up her hat 
and coat. Now she came forward and took the 
fork from her mother’s hand. 

“Let me finish these, dear. Oh, but they look 
marvellous! Is it a birthday or something? And 
you’re home from the office early, too. Explain 
yourself, Mrs. Patterson! What are we celebrat- 
ing? 

Mother’s face turned a bit pinker as she perched 
upon the high kitchen stool, and absently selected 
a doughnut from the pile. 

Her voice was carefully careless as she an¬ 
swered between nibbles, “Thanks, darling. That’s 
the last batch. Don’t burn them now! Why— 
things were very slack at the office, and I knew 
Mr. McIntyre wouldn’t mind if I asked for a 
couple of hours off. It’s odd, but a sort of do¬ 
mestic fit overcame me. All at once the clatter of 
my typewriter got on my nerves, and I just ached 


12 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

to be doing something around the kitchen. Silly 
of me, wasn’t it?” 

“No, of course it wasn’t silly,” Anne answered. 
“But it does seem queer. You’re so wrapped up 
in your work at the office, and so efficient, so— 
well, always the perfect secretary. I didn’t sup¬ 
pose you ever got tired of that!” 

Patricia looked up from the rapidly-disappear¬ 
ing plate of “holes.” 

“I know exactly how you felt, Mums. That 
very same feeling comes over me in school. My 
soul just yearns to flee from Caesar and his ever¬ 
lasting Commentaries, and to rush home to turn 
out a batch of pralines. But of course I never 
yield to such impulses,” she added virtuously. 

“Because you know what would happen if you 
did,” her sister laughed. “Keep still a minute, 
can’t you? Mother, you don’t usually yield to 
such impulses either—I never even guessed you 
had them! You—you’re feeling all right, aren’t 
you?” 

“Of course, dear!” Mother answered swiftly. 
“Do I look ill?” 

Anne’s soft brown eyes surveyed the slight fig¬ 
ure on the stool. The sisters were enormously 
proud of their pretty young mother. Not that 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 10 

Mother actually was young, when you counted 
the years. She had been twenty-one when that 
tragic motor accident left her a widow, with Pa¬ 
tricia a month-old baby in her arms. Pat was 
fourteen now, and those fourteen years had not 
been easy ones for Margaret Patterson. There 
had been no close relatives to depend upon, and 
very little money. What there had been she had 
invested in a business school training, and then 
had courageously taken up the burden of sup¬ 
porting her orphaned babies. No one had ever 
heard her complain; laughter and blithe comrade¬ 
ship had ruled in the little house to which she had 
come as a bride. Her own grief resolutely hidden, 
she had made the father they could not remember 
a happy, living person to the girls. 

Little of those early struggles showed in her 
face now. With her youthful figure and laugh¬ 
ing eyes, and in the smart simplicity of her 
clothes, she was invariably mistaken for an elder 
sister when the two girls went out with her. In 
everyday life she was far more like a sister than 
a mother, Anne thought. It was only when one 
was ill, or hurt, or discouraged, that one realized 
how real and deep the mother-feeling was. 

“Well, Solemn Eyes?” Mrs. Patterson tucked 


14 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

back a straying curl and reached for another 
doughnut. “What’s the verdict? Do I look ill?” 

“I should say not! You look positively bloom¬ 
ing. I’m glad you took the afternoon off. It’s 
done you good. I suppose the office must get on 
your nerves sometimes.” 

“Oh, it isn’t that. I like the office. But I like 
home too, and I see so little of it. There’s such 
a mad rush to get off in the mornings, and then 
the hurry-up dinner at night—it isn’t the sort 
of housekeeping your grandmother brought me 
up to. Just makeshift, really—” her voice trailed 
off, and Anne looked at her in surprise. 

“Why, Mums darling, I never heard you talk 
like that before!” she exclaimed. “Everybody 
says it’s marvellous, the way you manage! Mr. 
McIntyre tells everyone he has the perfect secre¬ 
tary, and there isn’t a girl I know who doesn’t 
think we have a perfect home. Of course it’s hard 
on you, with two jobs instead of one, but you’ve 
never seemed to mind. And now that Pat and I 
are old enough to help it’s lots easier than it was. 
I don’t—” 

Patricia captured the last crumb on her plate 
and joined the discussion. 

“The fact is, Mums is just a home-body at 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 15 

heart,” she pronounced gravely. “All that brisk 
efficiency is put on to fool Mr. McIntyre. Look 
at her now, in that cunning flowered house-coat, 
with doughnut-dough under her finger-nails! 
You can see it’s what she was born for. If she 
had her way—and if I had mine—she’d never go 
near that office again.” 

Anne lifted the last doughnut from the fat 
and turned off the flame. Outside the rain had 
begun again. It beat against the window panes 
and made the little kitchen glow more warmly 
bright. With a paper towel Anne carefully 
wiped every spatter from the trim ivory gas 
range. Then she shifted the fresh doughnuts to 
an immense platter. 

“There’s another home-body for you,” Pat ob¬ 
served, watching her deft movements. “Come 
and sit down, Sis, you exhaust me. It isn’t time 
to begin getting dinner yet.” 

Anne came to sit beside her sister on the 
painted settle which formed half of the break¬ 
fast nook. 

Seen together, the two girls were alike and yet 
unlike. Sixteen-year-old Anne, slender and 
lovely, had delicately-cut features of ivory pal¬ 
lor, lighted by golden-brown eyes and shaded 



16 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

by a cloud of dark hair. She looked far more 
fragile than she actually was, although she lacked 
the sturdiness of her little sister. 

Patricia, two years younger, had the same 
gold-flecked brown eyes. But where Anne’s were 
still deep pools, Pat’s sparkled perpetually with 
eager life. The sun-tan of summer sports never 
quite left her cheeks, with their undertone of 
dusky rose. 

Friends of the family conveniently classified 
them as “Anne, the studious one,” and “Pat, the 
tomboy,” but that division was hardly fair. Anne 
really enjoyed some of the less strenuous outdoor 
sports, and Pat didn’t mind a book on a rainy 
afternoon—if it had enough adventure in it. 

Mrs. Patterson glanced toward the china clock 
on the wall. She opened her mouth to speak, then 
closed it again. 

“Something I can do, Mums?” Anne asked. 
“Peas to shell, maybe, or potatoes to pare? You 
must be tired.” 

“I’m not, a bit. No, everything is ready, in the 
refrigerator. The chicken won’t take long to 
fry.” 

“Fried chicken?” Pat rolled her eyes. “And 
doughnuts! You must be right, Sis, we are cele- 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 17 

brating something. Mother has a mysterious 
gleam in her eye, too; I saw it the minute I came 
in. What is it, darling? Tell us!” 

“Don’t be silly. It just happens we’re having 
a guest for dinner, that’s all.” Mother hesitated 
a minute, then added very casually, “I asked 
Doctor Dick to drop in.” 

“Oh!” The curiosity died from Pat’s face. 
“But he isn’t a guest. More like one of the fam¬ 
ily, Doctor Dick is. I’m glad he’s coming, though. 
He said he’d take a look at one of my skis that’s 
beginning to split. He’s wonderful at fixing 
things like that. I’ll go haul it out now so I 
won’t forget.” 

“Wait a minute, dear. There’s plenty of time.” 

Mother’s tone was so odd that both girls 
turned to look at her. She still sat on the kitchen 
stool, one foot tucked up on the highest round; 
the other, in its slender high-heeled slipper, swing¬ 
ing restlessly. 

“What is it, darling?” Anne asked. “You’ve 
had something on your mind all afternoon. Play¬ 
ing truant from the office, a thing you never do, 
and now—well, you’re positively fidgeting! 
What have you been up to? Buying another 
electric refrigerator, and trying to break it gently 


18 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

to us that we’ll have to wear our old clothes till 
it’s paid for? You look exactly as you did that 
time; thrilled to death and yet sort of apprehen¬ 
sive too. Come on, you might as well tell us and 
get it over with.” 

“A car—she’s bought a car!” Patricia shrieked. 
“Oh, Mumsey dear, is that it? You said we 
couldn’t possibly afford it! Now we can go to 
California this summer, Sis—isn’t it marvellous? 
Where is it, Mums? Oh, I can’t wait to see it!” 

“Sorry, Puss.” Mother shook her head. 
“You’ve guessed wrong this time. There’s no 
car.” 

“No car? Oh! Well, I didn’t really suppose 
there would be, but there’s no law against hop¬ 
ing. No car. Then let’s see. Not new draperies 
for the dining-room, I hope and trust? No, you 
wouldn’t be all of a twitter over them. Don’t 
make us guess, darling. Tell us.” 

“I suppose I’d better.” Mother straightened 
on the stool, and took a deep breath. 

“I was trying to lead up to this tactfully, but 
I don’t seem to be making much headway. So 
I’ll just come out with it, and then you must 
tell me what you think. What you honestly 
think. And remember, it won’t happen at all if 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 19 

it would make you girls unhappy. I made that 
perfectly clear to him. After all, your lives will 
be affected as much as mine, and I simply won’t 
consent to anything that would upset you, or 
make you feel—” the pretty voice trembled sud¬ 
denly, the long-lashed eyes misted. “You come 
first, darlings, you always will!” she ended. 

Pat’s eyes widened. “What on earth —” she 
began. 

But Anne rose, and brushing past her, laid a 
tender arm across her mother’s slim shoulders. 

“I think I know now, dear,” she said softly. 
“You’ve promised to marry Doctor Dick, haven’t 
you?” 

“Not promised!” Mrs. Patterson threw up 
her head. “I’ve told him definitely that I had to 
know how you felt first. If you’d hate it, then 
we’ll forget the whole business. Maybe you’d 
like to think about it, and talk it over between 
yourselves,” she added anxiously. “He’s com¬ 
ing for his answer tonight, but he won’t mind 
waiting—” 

“Here, just a minute. Let me get this 
straight!” Patricia broke in. “You mean—you 
mean you’re talking about marrying Doctor 
Dick? And Sis standing there with that smug 




20 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

T-knew-it-all-the-time’ look on her face! For 
pity’s sake, where was I while all this was going 
on? Anne, you didn’t know it; you couldn’t 
have!” 

“I did, though,” Anne answered serenely. “No, 
nobody told me. But I have eyes in my head, I 
hope. He worships the ground you walk on, 
Mums, and did from the first time he came here 
—to set Pat’s broken arm, wasn’t it? I’ve been 
wishing he’d gather up courage enough to ask 
you.” 

“ ‘Wishing’? Then you—it’s all right with you, 
Anne?” 

“It’s more than all right, dear.” Anne’s arm 
tightened about her mother. “It’s the nicest 
thing that ever happened to us, and I’m almost 
as thrilled as you are.” 

“Bless you, Anne! I felt sure—and yet I 
couldn’t be sure—” Mother gave a little broken 
laugh, and hugged her elder daughter to her. 
Then her eyes turned to little Pat, sitting very 
quietly at the table, her face still a mask of be¬ 
wilderment. 

“Pat, darling?” Mother prompted her gently. 

“Yes? Sorry, Mums, I just can’t seem to take 
it in. You aren’t by any chance having fun 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 21 

with us, are you? No, I can see it’s real. Well 
—well—my goodness, you’re surely not waiting 
to hear what I think! Doctor Dick is my own 
special pal; you might say I discovered him! 
And now to have him in the family—well, it’s 
the one thing you could have got for us that’s 
better than a car. Come to think of it, Doctor 
Dick has a car, too. Oh, but that makes every¬ 
thing just perfect!” 

Then I understand that you give your con¬ 
sent?” Mrs. Patterson smiled. 

“Well, of course!” Pat’s face broke into a 
wide radiant grin. She jumped up and ran to her 
mother’s side. “Oh, dearest, I’m so happy for 
you! Forgive me if I was slow about saying so; 
I was simply dumbfounded. I can not under¬ 
stand why nobody ever tells me these things!” 




II 


“Doctor Dick!” 

Patricia, lurking in the shadow of the lilac 
bushes, pounced upon the tall figure as it turned 
in at the gate. 

“Anne said to mind my own business,” she be¬ 
gan breathlessly. “It’s Mother’s place to tell 
you, she says. We’re going to be very tactful, 
and leave you alone with her before dinner. 
That’s Anne’s plan. But I couldn’t wait—I just 
couldn’t! After all, I discovered you, didn’t I? 
It was my arm that was broken—Remember? 
And if I hadn’t howled with pain, Mums might 

22 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 23 

have called some other doctor, instead of having 
to hurry so that she called the very first one in the 
telephone book. If it hadn’t been for me you 
mightn’t ever have known her, so you really 
owe your whole life’s happiness to me! That 
makes it all right for me to tell you first, don’t 
you think? Only you needn’t let Mums know 
about it. You can be terribly surprised when she 
tells you. I guess you’re pretty relieved to know 
it’s all right, aren’t you?” 

She skipped along at his side, both hands clasp¬ 
ing his arm. 

“I guess I am, if you mean what I hope 
you do.” 

Dr. Richard Driscoll was a big, broad-shoul¬ 
dered man in his early forties, with friendly gray 
eyes and a thin earnest face. The Patterson girls 
were so abundantly healthy that there had been 
little need for his professional services since Pat’s 
accident. But by the time her arm was well he 
had become firmly established as a friend of the 
family. He came often to the little white house 
when his calls were over, always to find a warm 
welcome from mother and daughters alike. 

He stopped Pat on the doorstep now, his 
usually calm voice just a little husky. 


24 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“It’s all right then, Young ’Un? You girls 
think you can put up with me around here?” 

“We think maybe we can, if we try terribly 
hard,” she teased him. “Goose, can’t you see I’m 
just bubbling over with delight? It’s the most 
gorgeous thing—oh, hello, Mums! Here’s Doc¬ 
tor Dick. I just happened to meet him at the 
gate. Make her sit down in the living room and 
rest a few minutes, Doctor Dick. She’s been 
working hard all afternoon. I’ll just run out and 
help Anne get dinner on the table.” 

What Pat called “the betrothal dinner” was 
so gay that it was not until Anne had cleared the 
table, leaving the great platter of doughnuts to 
linger over, that the talk simmered down to a 
sober discussion of plans for the future. 

“I’ve told your mother, girls,” Dr. Driscoll 
began, “that I’d like us to be married around the 

% 

last of May, if it suits her. I have a chance to 
spend the summer in London, as temporary assist¬ 
ant to Sir James Hodson. It seems to me an 
English honeymoon would be delightful.” 

“I should think it would!” Anne agreed. “Sir 
James Hodson—isn’t that the man who has that 
wonderful hospital for crippled children? You’re 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 25 

going to work with him? But that’s just what 
you’ve been hoping for, isn’t it?” 

Doctor Dick nodded. “I think I told you about 
Sir James when I first began corresponding with 
him, early this winter. I’ve always meant to spe¬ 
cialize along that line, but it’s easier said than 
done, when you’re in general practice. Three 
months with Sir James will give me more than I 
could get from years in the best post-graduate 
school. When I performed his new operation on 
that Fiorelli boy—and had to fight the whole 
staff at the hospital here to do it—well, it was 
the best piece of work I ever did, in more ways 
than one. It brought me my first letter from Sir 
James, and it led to this offer. I don’t mind tell¬ 
ing all of you that I’m quite well pleased with 
myself.” 

“You have a right to be,” Mrs. Patterson said. 
“It gives me a warm glow every time I meet 
Johnny Fiorelli marching along beside his mother, 
and think of the years I used to meet her pa¬ 
tiently pushing his wheel-chair. You have some 
good friends in that family, Dick.” 

“I know. And yet, it’s only a drop in the 
bucket. The city’s done a lot for the crippled 
kids, with the special school and the bus to gather 




26 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

them up, but every time I see a load of them go¬ 
ing by I think—if I could only get my hands on 
the lot! Some of them are hopeless, of course. 
But there are others I know I could help, if I 
just had the time and the money and a free hand. 
Oh, well—stop me, someone! There I go off on 
my one track again. What were we talking about 
before this?” 

“Mother’s honeymoon!” Patricia said, a little 
indignantly. “Do you mean you’re asking her to 
spend it in a hospital?” 

“No, no, of course not!” Doctor Dick looked 
appealingly at his prospective bride. “You un¬ 
derstood that we wouldn’t be quartered at the 
hospital, didn’t you, Margaret? We could take 
a little furnished flat. I’m sure you’d be com¬ 
fortable, and I think you’d enjoy London.” 

“Oh, I know we will!” Pat said enthusiastically. 
“We’ve never been abroad, and I think it’ll be 
wonderful. Even better than California, Sis, al¬ 
though I know you had your heart set on—why, 
what’s the matter, Doctor Dick? You look so 
funny.” 

“I’m sorry, Pat,” he said awkwardly. “I wish 
I could plan to take you girls to London too. But 
I simply couldn’t manage it.” 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 27 

“Not take us?” Patricia stared at him. “But 
you just said—oh, I see. You’re only asking 
Mummy, not us!” 

“It isn’t settled yet, dear,” Mrs. Patterson put 
in. “And I really don’t see how it can be done, 
Dick. Let’s just forget the English trip, as far 
as I’m concerned. You go on and put in your 
summer with Sir James. I’ll take the girls to 
California for my two weeks’ vacation, as we’d 
planned. Then in the autumn we’ll talk about 
the wedding.” 

“But I wanted you to come!” His voice was 
boyishly disappointed. “I haven’t been in London 
since the War, but I love it. There are so many 
places I want to show you—it would make a 
perfect wedding trip. Couldn’t we figure out 
some arrangement, get someone in to stay with 
the girls? I’ll make it up to them later, I promise. 
You see how it is, don’t you, Pat? It isn’t that 
I don’t want you; you must believe that. If I 
could only afford it—but there it is. I can’t, and 
it’s no use pretending I can.” 

He looked so wretched that Pat’s own disap¬ 
pointment receded swiftly. 

“Never mind, Doctor Dick. I should have 
known better, if I’d stopped to think. But 





28 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Mummy can go; of course she can. Sis and I will 
be perfectly all right here by ourselves.” 

“I really think we could manage, Mother dear,” 
Anne said. “We’re pretty good housekeepers, 
you know.” 

Mrs. Patterson shook her head. “I’d never 
know a moment’s peace. You’d read all night, 
Anne, and heaven knows what Pat would eat. 
No, my plan is much the best. You know how 
much you’ve looked forward to seeing Cali¬ 
fornia, Anne.” 

“I do hate to give that up,” Anne acknowl¬ 
edged. “But I don’t see how I could enjoy it 
now, Mums, thinking every minute I was cheat¬ 
ing you out of your wedding trip.” 

“What’s all this about California?” Doctor 
Dick asked. “Do you hear Hollywood calling 
you, Anne?” 

“Oh, mercy, no! I don’t care anything about 
Hollywood. It’s just that—well, ever since I 
read ‘Ramona’ when I was a little girl I’ve been 
wild about Old California. The missions, and 
the ranchos—of course I know it’s all changed 
now, but there are lots of relics still. I’ve read 
everything I could find about that period, till 
it’s so real to me I can almost remember it. 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 29 

There’s a marvellous book, The Splendid Idle 
Forties , all about the days when California was 
Spanish. Did you ever read it, Doctor Dick? I 
nearly know it by heart.” 

“She does know it by heart,” Pat put in. 
“When she was younger she used to dress up in 
a striped shawl, with a lace curtain for a mantilla, 
and do us the scene where Dona Ysabel, the Star 
of Monterey, says that any man who wins her 
must first fill her lap with pearls. Remember, 
Mums? She was—what’s the word? Colossal I” 

“I remember,” Mother laughed. “Anne’s had 
that dream for years, and I had faithfully prom¬ 
ised her that some day I’d take her West. I can’t 
disappoint her now.” 

“Oh, Mummy, please!” Anne protested. “I’ve 
waited this long and I don’t mind a bit waiting 
another year. Maybe next summer we can all go. 
Don’t you think we might, Doctor Dick?” 

“Of course we can. We’ll drive out and really 
see the country right. That’s a promise, Anne, 
and you can depend on it.” 

“That settles that, then,” Anne nodded con¬ 
tentedly. “And now—oh, we simply must think 
up some plan that will let you go to London, 
Mums. I’ll be more disappointed than anybody 




30 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

if you can’t go. Isn’t there someone you could 
get to stay with us, if you won’t trust us alone? 
We’ll promise to be very good.” 

“I’m trying to think.” Mother’s pretty fore¬ 
head wrinkled. “I don’t know of anyone.” 

“We could go back to camp, I suppose,” Anne 
offered, when the problem had been thoroughly 
discussed. 

“Oh Anne!” Patricia wailed. “Not for three 
whole months! Four weeks at camp is grand, 
but after that you get so tired of getting up to a 
bugle. Besides, we’ve been to Mishawaka over 
and over, till I know every path and every 
stump by heart.” 

“There are other camps, though,” Anne pro¬ 
tested half-heartedly. “We could try a new one. 
What do you think, Mums?” 

“I don’t know, dear. You aren’t very en¬ 
thusiastic about it yourself, are you?” 

“Oh, I don’t mind. I can’t think of anything 
else, and—” 

“Listen, girls!” Doctor Dick struck the table 
a resounding blow. “I’ve just had an inspiration, 
a real one. How would you like to spend the 
summer in New York?” 

“New York!” Patricia shrieked. “Oh, you 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 31 

don’t mean it, you can’t! Why, that’s farther 
away than California.” 

“Never you mind how far away it is. Would 
you like it?” 

The two sisters turned shining eyes toward 
him. “Like it!” Pat exclaimed. “Sis, do you 
hear him? He’s asking us if we’d like New 
Yorkr 

“Here’s my idea,” Doctor Dick began. “I still 
own the old house in Brooklyn where I was born, 
and my father before me. ‘Four Chimneys/ it’s 
called. I haven’t lived there since my college 
days. New York is overcrowded with young 
physicians, and when I was ready to hang out my 
shingle I took the advice of my favorite profes¬ 
sor and came out here to the Middle West. My 
father never would leave the old house, although 
it was much too big for him, and terribly old- 
fashioned. But he was comfortable there, with 
his books and his stamp collections, and Ellen 
and Dougal to look after him.” 

“Ellen was your old nurse, wasn’t she, Doctor 
Dick?” Pat asked. “You told me about her 
once.” 


“I expect I did—I have a pretty warm spot 



32 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

in my heart for Ellen, bless her! She practically 
brought me up, you know—my mother was an 
invalid for years. She died when I was fifteen. 
Well, when Father died two years ago, I found 
myself with the house on my hands. The land on 
which it stands is valuable, but the house itself 
is a white elephant. There’s no demand nowadays 
for a twenty-room mansion with imported marble 
fireplaces, gas lighting and one bathroom! And 
right now, there’s no demand for the building site. 
So until my agent can get me a good offer, the 
place is simply standing there, with Ellen and 
her husband in charge as caretakers. And I can 
think of no reason on earth why you girls 
shouldn’t spend a very pleasant summer with 
them.” 

“Oh, Doctor Dick, I think that’s a marvellous 
idea!” Pat exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to 
see New York, but to think of actually living 
there! Aren’t you thrilled to death, Sis?” 

“I think it would be pretty nice,” Anne agreed. 
“Rather like living in a book, because I’ve read 
so many stories that happened in New York. I 
think I know the names of streets and shops 
there nearly as well as I do our own. Yes, I 
know I’d love it, Doctor Dick.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 33 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he told her. “Perhaps 
you won’t be so disappointed about postponing 
the California trip, then.” 

“I’ll take New York instead of California any 
day,” Pat proclaimed. “Less scenery and more 
people, that’s what I like. Not that I care so 
much where I go, as long as I go somewhere! 
Do you know we were born here in Middletown, 
Doctor Dick, and we haven’t been a hundred 
miles away from it in all our lives? I never hear 
a train whistle that I don’t wish I were on it, 
and I don’t care where it’s going! But New York 
—oh, I’d never dared hope for that! Do you 
really mean it, Doctor Dick? You’re not fool¬ 
ing us? You really mean we can go?” 

“I don’t see why not, if your mother agrees. 
What do you think, Margaret?” 

“Well, really, I haven’t had a chance to think,” 
Mother said. “It sounds like a good plan, but—” 

“No huts, Mumsey dear!” Pat pleaded. “Can’t 
you see that it settles everything just perfectly? 
You’ll have your honeymoon in England, with¬ 
out having to worry about us at all. Sis and I 
will be perfectly happy exploring New York— 
oh, I can’t believe it! Radio City, and Coney 
Island, and Chinatown, and the Bowery—we’ll 





34 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

actually see them, Anne, with our very own 
eyes.” 

A little furrow crinkled Mrs. Patterson’s 
forehead. “That doesn’t exactly reassure me, 
Pat. I don’t think I would be entirely carefree 
in England, if I thought you girls were wander¬ 
ing about by yourselves, ‘exploring’ the Bowery. 
You’ll have to promise me here and now not to 
do anything so ridiculous, if you expect my con¬ 
sent.” 

Pat’s face drooped, but Doctor Dick said com¬ 
fortably, “Oh, you’ll have plenty of help with 
your sight-seeing, girls. Dougal, Ellen’s hus¬ 
band, is a retired policeman. He’ll see to it that 
you’re properly protected, if you want to go 
poking about where young ladies don’t belong.” 

“Tell me something about these people, Dick,” 
Mother said. “They must be quite elderly, aren’t 
they? Would they want the responsibility of two 
strange girls?” 

“They’d love it,” Doctor Dick answered. 
“Ellen and Dougal MacDougall are the salt of 
the earth, Margaret. Or maybe I should say the 
oatmeal, for they’re as Scotch as the Highland 
Fling. Tell you about them? Well, let’s see. I 
can’t remember a world without Ellen in it. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 35 

Which is hardly strange, because she nursed me 
from the day I was born. I remember her as 
quite a young girl, blue-eyed and red-headed, 
with a wealth of freckles and a wide generous 
smile and a boundless good-nature that never 
faltered. I was an only child, you know, and we 
were a quiet family. My father married late in 
life—he was well past forty when I was born. 
He was a shy, scholarly man, fond of me in his 
own quiet way, but not the sort of father who 
romps with his boy. My mother was always deli¬ 
cate. She was an angel, sweet and patient under 
constant suffering. What I’m getting at is, all 
the fun I had as a child came to me through 
Ellen. It was she who took me to the Zoo, and 
to the circus, who planned my birthday parties, 
and encouraged me to bring my gang to the 
kitchen so that we wouldn’t disturb my parents. 
And oh, the goodies she used to make for us! 
Wait till you taste her hickory nut toffee, Pat! 
She’ll be tickled to death to have some young life 
about the place again, I can answer for that.” 

“But her husband?” Mother persisted. “How 
will he feel about it?” 

“Dougal? Well, now let me tell you about 
him. Dougal MacDougall was the policeman 



36 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

on our beat. The courtship started one day when 
I fell off the dock—Ellen had taken me down to 
see the boats come in. Four Chimneys overlooks 
New York harbor, you know—or did I tell you 
that?” 

“You haven’t told us anything about the house 
yet,” Mother smiled. “But go on now about 
Dougal.” 

“Oh, yes. Well, Dougal fished me out, and 
took me to the station house to dry, so my mother 
wouldn’t know and be worried. He and Ellen 
grew quite friendly over the drying-out process, 
and after that we used to meet him and stop to 
chat every time we took our walk. Ellen and I 
were both convinced he was the handsomest man 
on the force, and we were positive he was the 
biggest and the bravest.” 

“How sweet!” Anne commented. “You must 
have missed her, though, when she married him.” 

“Oh, that didn’t happen for years and years 
after their first meeting. She firmly refused to 
listen to him while I was small and needed her. 
Then, when I was older, my mother grew worse, 
and Ellen felt that she couldn’t leave her. They 
weren’t married until after Mother’s death. 
Father closed up the house then, and went abroad 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 37 

for a few years. When he came back, the servant 
problem rather floored him, and it ended in his 
coaxing Ellen and Dougal to come and keep 
house for him. They retired Dougal as disabled 
about that time. He has a stiff knee, caused by a 
bullet he received when he captured a trio of pay¬ 
roll bandits single-handed,—quite a glorious af¬ 
fair, by the way, for which the Commissioner 
publicly thanked him. Ellen will show you her 
newspaper clippings, I haven’t a doubt. Oh, 
they’re fine people, Margaret, both of them. The 
girls couldn’t be in better hands.” 

“They do sound nice,” Mother agreed. “Well 
—” she hesitated, while the girls waited, implor- 
ing eyes fixed on her face. 

“Suppose we leave it this way, Dick,” she de¬ 
cided. “You write to your Ellen right away, 
and see what she thinks of the plan. I won’t have 
the girls forced upon her if it would incon¬ 
venience her in any way. But if she invites them 
—now wait a minute, Pat. We can’t possibly 
know how Mrs. MacDougall will feel about this 
now. So let’s just wait and see what she says.” 

“And if she says it’s all right, we may go?” 
Patricia pressed. “That’s definitely a promise, 
Mums? Oh, good! Ellen will want us, won’t she, 



38 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Doctor Dick? You’re sure about it, even if 
Mummy isn’t?” 

“Couldn’t be surer, Small One. I’ll write her 
tonight, though, so there won’t be any question 
about it. And now, could we drop all this and 
talk about—well, after all, I’ve never been mar¬ 
ried before, and it’s rather an important event to 
me. So if—” 

“And what do you think it is to us?” Pat 
challenged. “You’re right, too, the big thing is 
the wedding. Now, this is my idea of what the 
bride ought to wear—” 




Ill 


“My word, it’s a cathedral!” 

Patricia looked about the vast spaces of Grand 
Central Terminal with an awe that was not pre¬ 
tended. 

Doctor Dick laughed. “You’ll get used to it. 
By the time you’re ready to go home, this will 
seem the proper size for all railroad stations, and 
you’ll smile pityingly at the smallness of Middle¬ 
town’s proud Union Terminal. Well, let me see. 
I thought we might as well eat here, and take a 
taxi over to Brooklyn. I wired Ellen to expect 
us about nine o’clock, and that will give us just 


39 
















40 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

time for dinner. Does that suit you, Margaret?” 

“Perfectly.” Mother, slim and pretty in her 
“going-away” tweeds, laid a hand on Anne’s 
arm. “You’re tired, aren’t you, honey? Come 
along, you’ll feel better when you’ve had a bite 
to eat.” 

“Tell us about Four Chimneys, Doctor Dick,” 
Patricia urged, when they were comfortably 
settled at their table. “This is the last chance 
you’ll have, because I’m going to be much too 
busy craning my neck out of the taxi window to 
listen to anything on the way. Do we go over 
the Brooklyn Bridge? There was a picture of it 
in my geography, and I’m dying to see if I can 
recognize it.” 

“Yes, we cross the bridge, and I don’t think 
you can fail to recognize it. It hasn’t changed 
in my time, and it’s one of my first memories. 
Four Chimneys lies almost in its shadow.” 

“I can look out of the window at the Brooklyn 
Bridge?” Pat asked. “Oh, Sis, do you hear that? 
Then I’ll really know I’m in New York. But go 
on, Doctor Dick. About the house. Is it terribly 
old? And has it really four chimneys?” 

“It really has. And—yes, it’s old, as American 
houses go. Not as old as the original Four Chim- 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 41 


neys, which stood within a few hundred feet of 
this house. That Four Chimneys was built in 
early Colonial times. It belonged to the Pierre- 
pont family, and General Washington was their 
guest when he planned the Battle of Long Island. 
Forty years later it was the scene of a magnificent 
reception when Lafayette paid his second visit to 
America. However, all that has nothing to do 
with my Four Chimneys, except that my great¬ 
grandfather, who was a friend of the Pierreponts, 
gave the old name to the fine new house he built 
in 1840. The original Pierrepont house was de¬ 
stroyed many years ago, although the family 
still occupies a beautiful home quite near mine.” 

“1840—then your house is a hundred years 
old!” Anne exclaimed. “Oh, how fascinating! 
There’s nothing as old as that in Middletown—I 
don’t think the town itself is, for that matter. 
And I do love old houses.” 

“Then you’re going to be very happy in Brook¬ 
lyn Heights.” Doctor Dick smiled. “Except 
for a few hotels and modern apartment buildings, 
the whole district is old. Old and mellow, with a 
restful autumnal feeling that I’ve never found 
anywhere else. All of the houses were very grand 
in their day, and they’ve grown old in pride and 



42 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

dignity, with no need to apologize to this stream¬ 
lined era. What I mean is, they don’t try to 
pretend they’re modern and up-to-date. If you 
want that sort of thing, go and look for it some¬ 
where else. What was good enough for Queen 
Victoria and Abraham Lincoln is still good 
enough for Brooklyn Heights, thank you.” 

“How refreshing!’’ Mother laughed. “Are 
those the sentiments of the inhabitants, or only 
of the houses themselves?” 

“Oh, both! The inhabitants who felt differ¬ 
ently have long since moved to Manhattan, or 
Long Island, or heaven knows where. That 
leaves the Old Guard, a shrunken remnant but 
indomitable still. The old gentlemen totter out 
into the sunshine with their gold-headed canes; 
the old ladies—there are more of them, for some 
reason—cling to their high-boned net collars, 
and their pompadours and their high shoes. You 
needn’t giggle, Pat, wait till you see! They go 
sedately to their Browning Club, or to a concert 
at the Academy of Music. They pay formal 
afternoon calls, and they entertain each other at 
tea. And at those tea-parties, they engage in 
long involved discussions over weighty social 
matters. ‘She was a Remsen on her mother’s 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 43 

side, of course, but her father’s people were 
nobodies, my dear, absolute nobodies!’ ‘Well, 
now, Lucy, are you sure she was a Remsen? It 
seems to me it was her mother’s sister who mar¬ 
ried a Remsen—not at all the same thing!’ And 
then—” 

“Dick, stop!” Mother choked on a bit of roll 
and reached for a glass of water. “There aren’t 
people like that in the world any more, there can’t 
be. You’re simply making this up!” 

“I am not!” he answered indignantly. “I was 
in great demand at my Cousin Julia’s tea-parties, 
I’ll have you know. Such a little gentleman, and 
doesn’t he hand around the cakes nicely! Well, 
when I was here two years ago to settle Father’s 
estate, Cousin Julia commandeered me for an¬ 
other tea-party. And I give you my word, noth¬ 
ing, absolutely nothing had changed about them 
since I was ten years old. Except that the ladies 
themselves are that much older, poor dears. But 
they’re just as genteel, just as passionately in¬ 
terested in bits of genealogy—and I think they 
were wearing the same clothes. No, Brooklyn 
Heights society hasn’t changed in the least de¬ 
gree since the days when my revered great¬ 
grandmother ruled over it with an iron hand.” 



44 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“Who are all these female relatives you’re 
dragging into the conversation, Doctor Dick?” 
Pat asked. “I never heard of your Cousin Julia 
before, nor your revered great-grandmother 
either.” 

“You’ll see Cousin Julia, I expect, if she’s in 
town. And as for my great-grandmother—do 
you mean to tell me, child, that you never heard 
of Mrs. Ephraim Driscoll?” 

Pat shook her head. “Should I have? Is she 
historical or something?” 

“Is she historical! My dear, I’ll have you know 
that my illustrious ancestress bought and freed 
the slave whom Henry Ward Beecher auctioned 
off in front of Plymouth Church, to bring home 
the horrors of slavery to his congregation. Surely 
you’ve heard about that?” 

“Very dimly,” Pat acknowledged. “I do re¬ 
member that Mr. Beecher auctioned a slave, but 
our history didn’t tell us who his customer was. 
Is that all she was famous for?” 

“By no means. She was a fervent Abolition¬ 
ist. She armed and equipped, from her own purse, 
a whole Civil War company, and she organized 
the great Sanitary Fair to raise medical supplies 
for the Union Army. Later she was a patroness 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 45 

of the Academy of Arts and Sciences, and—oh, 
really, I despair of enumerating all her accom¬ 
plishments. Put it this way. You know what 
Queen Victoria was to the British Empire? Well, 
even so was my celebrated great-grandmother to 
Brooklyn Heights. Only a little more on the 
regal side, if anything.” 

“Good gracious!” Patricia breathed. “Did you 
know her?” 

“Alas, no. When I entered upon this mortal 
scene she had passed to her reward, and her 
mantle had fallen upon the shoulders of Cousin 
Julia Kinnott. Ellen will tell you all about her, 
though. She didn’t know her either, but Jeanie 
Fraser, Ellen’s great-aunt, was the old lady’s 
parlor-maid, and Ellen has had some rare stories 
from her. And you’ll be able to get an excellent 
impression from Cousin Julia, who took great- 
grandmamma as her model in all things.” 

“And we have to know herV’ Pat sounded 
frankly terrified. “Doctor Dick, you should have 
warned us. You never said a word about anyone 
but Ellen and Dougal.” 

“Oh, I don’t expect you’ll see much of Cousin 
Julia. She lives down the street, but she spends 
quite a bit of time with her married daughter in 


46 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Boston. She may not be in town all summer. 
Anyway, she’s not a bad old thing when you 
get used to her. She doesn’t really bite, she only 
barks, though I’ll admit I was a grown man be¬ 
fore I made that comforting discovery.” 

“Don’t look so distressed, honey,” Anne put 
in. “We’re not going to visit her. And I know 
we’re going to like Ellen and Dougal. I feel 
as if I knew them already, Doctor Dick. You’ve 
told us so much about them.” 

“I can guarantee satisfaction there.” He 
glanced at his watch. “Well, if everyone’s fin¬ 
ished, I suggest we move on. They’ll be wait¬ 
ing for us.” 

Four Chimneys was the end house of a tall 
brownstone row, separated from the sidewalk 
only by a shallow area enclosed by ornate iron 
railings. 

To the girls, accustomed to the more spacious 
Western architecture, where each house was set 
apart surrounded by its own green lawns, the 
effect was grim and forbidding. The windows 
were dark; only a faint glow showed through 
the ground glass panels of the massive double 
doors. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 47 

“Well, here we are. Just dump the luggage 
on the stoop, driver; I’ll have it taken in.” 

Doctor Dick helped his little family out, and 
they followed him up the wide flight of steps. 
Patricia observed with amazement that there were 
three sets of doors. Heavy wooden storm doors 
were folded back, but beyond them another pair 
in beautifully-wrought iron guarded the inner 
ones with the glass panels. 

Doctor Dick gave a firm pull to a chased silver 
handle beside the iron door. A muffled ringing, 
faint and far away, showed that it was truly a 
doorbell, though quite unlike the girls’ idea of 
one. 

No response came from within the dark silent 
house. 

“I can’t understand this.” Doctor Dick pulled 
vigorously at the bell again. “Where can Ellen 
be? I thought we’d find her waiting on the front 
steps.” 

“You did send the wire, didn’t you, Dick?” 
Mother asked. “You’re so absent-minded— 
you’re sure you didn’t forget?” 

“Well, as a matter of fact, I did forget yes¬ 
terday, what with the excitement of an early 
morning wedding, and getting the train and all. 



48 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Had it all written out, too, and carried it around 
in my pocket. But I thought of it in time,” he 
finished triumphantly. “Sent it off this morn¬ 
ing, when we stopped at Buffalo. So it certainly 
arrived long before this.” 

Mother sighed. “Do you remember what it 
said, by any chance?” 

“Certainly. I made it short and sweet. ‘Ar¬ 
riving nine o’clock tomorrow night.’ Couldn’t be 
plainer. Why, what’s the matter? What have I 
done now?” 

“ ‘Tomorrow night’—and you sent it this 
morning!” Patricia pounced. “Oh, Doctor Dick, 
really!” 

“Good heavens! Well, that shows you what 
being a bridegroom will do to a man’s wits! 
Sorry as I can be, everybody. But I don’t see 
it makes any real difference. Ellen knows we 
are coming, so she’s bound to be expecting us, 
even if we did arrive a day earlier.” 

He pulled again at the bell handle. 

Mother leaned against the iron railing, shiver¬ 
ing a little. 

“There’s quite a heavy fog coming up,” she 
remarked. “It was misty when we crossed the 
bridge, but now it’s getting really thick.” 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 49 

Yes, we often get them up here; we’re right 
above the water,” Doctor Dick answered ab¬ 
sently. “Margaret, I am sorry about this! I 
don t know how I came to be so stupid. I’m 
ashamed—” 

“Someone’s coming now, I think,” Anne put in. 

The door opened a cautious crack, and a man’s 
face peered out. 

“Dougal!” Doctor Dick exclaimed. “Open up, 
for heaven’s sake, and let us in.” 

“Master Richard!” The door was flung wide. 

In spite of his years, Dougal MacDougall 
was still a fine physical specimen. Erect and 
soldierly, narrow-hipped and broad-shouldered, 
he stood as smartly at attention as ever in the days 
when he had won the hearts of Ellen and her 
small charge. From his bronzed face under the 
thick white hair, the bluest eyes the girls had ever 
seen beamed hearty welcome. 

“It’s all my fault, Dougal,” Doctor Dick was 
explaining, as he shook the old man’s hand. “I 
balled up the message—sorry if we’re putting 
you out. But here I am, and my new family 
with me.” 

“And right welcome ye are, Master Richard! 
Will ye not come your ways in, Ma’am, and the 


50 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

young leddies—eh, but we’ve been lookin’ for¬ 
ward to this, the wife and me! If ye’ll just be 
steppin’ into the drawin’-room, now, Ellen’ll be 
here the minute.” 

Dougal left them standing for a moment in 
the high vaulted entrance hall, and rolled back 
heavy folding-doors to the right. He disappeared 
into the blackness behind them, and they heard 
the scratch of a match. He returned to usher 
them into a formal drawing-room of incredible 
vastness. 

“If ye’ll just make yourselves at home, Ma’am 
—Ellen will be here the minute she’s dressed. 
We’d gone early to bed, not thinkin’ to see any¬ 
one the night—” 

“It’s a shame to disturb you both like this,” 
Mother said. “But I’m afraid you’ll have to 
blame my husband for it.” 

“Eh, it’s no a matter for blame, Ma’am—’tis 
only bringin’ nearer a pleasure we’d been lookin’ 
forward to these many weeks. I’ll just bring in 
your gear from the stoop, Master Richard, and 
take it up to your rooms. They’re all aired and 
ready for you. And here’s Ellen.” 

She stopped just inside the door to bob an old- 
fashioned curtsey. Ellen MacDougall was a 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 51 

round little roly-poly pudding of a woman, with 
twinkling eyes and rosy cheeks. Although she 
was well over sixty, her reddish curly hair showed 
only a trace of gray, and she moved with the easy 
vigor of sound health. She had dressed hastily, 
but there was no sign of it in the prim blue ging¬ 
ham uniform, with its starched white apron and 
old-fashioned maid’s cap. 

“Eh, this is a proud day, Ma’am,” she said, as 
Doctor Dick made his presentations. “To think 
of Master Richard bringin’ home his bride to the 
old house! And the bonny young leddies, too! 
Me and Dougal have been that excited since the 
first letter come! And then us not bein’ up to 
welcome ye—I declare, I’m fair ashamed to 
meet your eye!” 

“But that wasn’t your fault, Ellen,” Mother 
told her. “We’re here, anyway. That’s all that 
matters. Only I do hope our coming without 
notice isn’t going to inconvenience you.” 

“Not a whit of it, Ma’am. I’ve had the rooms 
open to the air for the last week, and everything 
is ready, barrin’ the makin’ up of the beds. I put 
that off to the last minute, but ’tis quickly done. 
If ye don’t mind waitin’ here for a few minutes, 
while I just run upstairs—ye don’t feel cold? 




52 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

There’s a fire laid, and if ye say the word I’ll 
kindle it” 

“Oh, no, don’t bother,” Mother said. “We’ll 
be going upstairs as soon as our rooms are ready. 
We’ll be quite comfortable here.” 

“It is chilly in here,” Doctor Dick said, as 
Ellen bustled out. “This room has been shut up 
for years; I think that accounts for it. My father 
never used it at all. Look around you, girls. This 
was the scene of my great-grandmother’s famous 
receptions, and it’s almost exactly as she left it. 
What do you think of it?” 

The wide lofty chamber was badly lighted by 
an ornate central chandelier fitted for gas. There 
were enough burners to provide a flood of illumi¬ 
nation, but Dougal had lighted only two of 
them. The far corners of the room were in 
shadow. In one of them loomed an enormous 
black grand piano, tightly closed. Carefully 
spaced about the walls were high straight-backed 
chairs, elaborately carved of black teakwood, in¬ 
laid with mother of pearl. 

The mantel, of heavily-carved greenish mar¬ 
ble, held two enormous dark blue urns and a huge 
ormulu clock, adorned with nymphs and satyrs. 
On the walls, which were covered entirely in rose 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 53 

satin, hung dark oil portraits in thick gold frames. 
A number of bulging gilt cabinets, ranged primly 
against the walls between the chairs, displayed 
through their glass sides a collection of small in¬ 
distinguishable objects. 

Scattered over the flowered Aubusson carpet 
were small gilt-and-satin chairs and little tables. 

Doctor Dick looked appraisingly about, and 
then led the way to an oddly-shaped satin couch 
near the fireplace. 

“To the best of my recollection, there isn’t a 
comfortable chair in the room,” he said cheer¬ 
fully. “But try the Recamier sofa, Margaret, 
and don’t be surprised when it turns out to be 
harder than it looks. Girls, make yourselves at 
home.” 

“Do you mind if we look about a bit?” Anne 
asked. “I’ve never seen anything in the least like 
this. It’s more like a stage setting for a period 
play than a real room. Come on, Pat.” 

The two girls walked over to the nearest cabi¬ 
net, which proved to contain a number of ivory 
fans, snuffboxes and carved jade statuettes. In 
spite of Doctor Dick’s permission, they felt oddly 
ill at ease in the great unfriendly room. After 
wandering constrainedly about for a bit, they 


54 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

came back to take little gilt chairs beside the sofa 
on which their mother and the doctor were sitting. 

Both girls were beginning to feel a little tired 
and dispirited, and they suspected that Mother 
shared the feeling. It was with relief that all of 
them welcomed Ellen’s return. “I’ve given the 
young leddies your old room, Master Richard,” 
she explained, as she led the way upstairs. 

The bedroom on the second floor was large, and 
it was pleasantly furnished in maple and flowered 
chintz. It was at the back of the house, with long 
windows opening onto a narrow balcony. 

“Come and see the harbor, girls,” Doctor Dick 
said, leading the way to the window. “This is 
absolutely the most magnificent view in all New 
York. You can see the skyscrapers of lower 
Manhattan, and the shipping—oh! No, you can’t, 
not tonight. I’d forgotten the fog.” 

Only a wall of heavy darkness met their eyes, 
pierced by a dim glimmer of winking lights. 

“Well, never mind.” Doctor Dick dropped the 
curtains. “You’ll have plenty of time for the 
view later. I expect you’re too tired to appreciate 
it tonight anyway.” 

“I’m sure we are,” Anne agreed. “Where— 
oh, here are our bags. The only thing I can 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 55 

think about right now is bed. Where’s Mummy?” 

“Here I am, dear. We’re right across the 
passage, if you should want to call us. You won’t 
be nervous? That’s right. Then goodnight, my 
darlings, and sleep well.” 

Side by side in the wide bed, the girls settled 
themselves to sleep. Silence hung like a pall 
over the old house, broken only by the muffled, 
mournful hoot of foghorns as the river traffic felt 
its cautious way across the black water. 

In spite of her weariness, Anne found herself 
lying tense and wakeful in the dark. She resisted 
the impulse to toss restlessly because of her 
younger sister lying beside her. 

Presently, however, she became conscious of 
a faint sound, not so much as a whimper, which 
rose and fell at her side. She reached out her 
hand, and touched Patricia’s cheek. It was wet, 
and so was the pillow on which it rested. 

“Pat!” she exclaimed sharply. “You’re crying, 
honey! What’s the matter?” 

The carefully suppressed sobs broke out in 
earnest. 

“I’m so thirsty! I want a drink of water!” 

“Good gracious! Why don’t you go get it, 


56 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

then? You know where the bathroom is. Right 
down at the end of the hall.” 

“Sis, I can’t!” A shudder shook the bed. “That 
bathroom—it looks like a tomb! All that dark 
green marble, even to the tub! It’s not a bath¬ 
tub, it’s a c-coffin, I know it is! Oh, I wouldn’t 
dare go in there in the dark! I’m afraid a—a 
body would rise up and clutch me with bony 
hands, and—” 

“All right, all right, I’ll get your drink for 
you.” Anne sat up, but Patricia clutched at her 
arm. 

“No! You can’t go and leave me here all by 
myself! It’s so dark, and there are those weird 
noises outside, wailing like lost souls—oh, Sis!” 
the sobs broke out again. “I don’t like this house! 
It’s—it’s sinister , that’s what it is! I know it’s 
haunted, I can feel it! And I don’t like the town. 
It’s too big,—there are too many buildings, and 
too many people, and they’re all strangers! Oh, 
what did we ever come here for? I want to go 
homeT 

“Pat, darling, don’t be an idiot!” Anne reached 
for and found a cold little hand. “You’re just 
tired, and over-excited. You’ll feel quite dif¬ 
ferently in the morning, when you’ve had a good 
night’s sleep.” 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 57 

“Sleep! Can you sleep, then? With those aw¬ 
ful banshees wailing out there in the dark, and 
ghosts creeping along the corridors, and—oh, Sis, 
I can’t stay here all summer, honestly I can’t! 
I’d rather a thousand times go to camp. Oh, why 
did we ever do it?” 

Her voice rose to a babyish wail, and Anne was 
striving frantically to hush her when there came 
a quiet knock at the door. Then it opened softly, 
while little Pat, panic-stricken, clung to her sister. 

“Are you all right in here, girls? I thought I 
heard you talking.” 

“We’re all right, Doctor Dick.” Anne gasped 
a little in her relief. “Pat wants a drink, and she’s 
such a baby she’s afraid to get it.” 

“I’ll bring it.” They heard him stumbling 
along the dark hallway, and a moment later he 
stood over them with a brimming glass. 

“All comfy?” he asked, in his kind, pleasant 
voice. “I thought you’d be sleeping, by this time. 
Your mother is, like a baby. She was pretty tired. 
In fact, though you girls probably don’t realize it, 
she’s been tired for a long, long time. This trip 
is going to do her a world of good. Well, nothing 
else you need? Then I’ll say goodnight again, 
kiddies. See you at breakfast.” 


58 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“Goodnight, Doctor Dick. And thanks for 
the water.” 

The door closed behind him. 

“He’s sweet, isn’t he?” Pat snuggled back into 
her pillow. “Always thinking about Mother, and 
what’s best for her. They’re going to be an ideally 
happy couple, I can see that. He’s right, too, 
about Mums’ being tired. She’s had a pretty 
strenuous time of it, what with her job and keep¬ 
ing up the home for us. I’m glad that’s over, and 
she can give a little thought to herself. Ooh!” she 
yawned luxuriously. “I am sleepy! ’Night, dar¬ 
ling.” 

“I hope it really is goodnight this time,” Anne 
said severely. “If you wake me up with any more 
nonsense about not wanting to stay here—” 

“Oh, that!” Pat chuckled, with one of those 
lightning changes of mood to which Anne should 
have been accustomed by this time. “You know, 
there is something sinister about this house, Sis, 
I’m certain of it. But all at once I don’t want 
to go away. There isn’t a girl we know who’s ever 
had a chance to spend a summer in a ghost man¬ 
sion. Won’t I curl their hair for them when I 
get back to Middletown!” 



“Get up, lazy ones! Are you going to sleep 
all day?” 

The sisters opened their eyes to broad daylight, 
and Mother’s smiling face. 

“Hurry into your clothes, darlings. It’s eight 
o’clock, and the Queen Mary sails at noon. If 
you expect to come and see us off—” 

“Oh, we do, of course we do!” Anne sprang up, 
dragging the covers from her slowly awakening 
sister. “Come on, Pat. We won’t be a minute, 
Mums.” 

They dashed for the bathroom, which, even for 
imaginative Pat, had quite lost its tomb-like as- 

59 






60 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

pect in the bright morning light. All of her over¬ 
night forebodings had vanished in sleep. She 
chattered happily to her sister as they hastily 
brushed and splashed. 

Mother waited in their room, and Doctor Dick 
met the three of them at the foot of the stairs. 

“This way to breakfast,” he told them, leading 
the way to a door behind the stairs. Long win¬ 
dows stood open wide to the warm June morning. 
The air of the rather small room was sweet with 
garden flowers. 

Ellen, who was laying the table, came forward 
with a smile. 

“If ye’ll just be takin’ your places, now, I 
won’t be keepin’ you a minute. I hope ye rested 
well, Ma’am?” 

“Indeed I did, Ellen,” Mother answered. 
“And how nice your table looks! Are the flowers 
from your own garden?” 

“They are that, Ma’am,” Ellen beamed. 
“Dougal takes sinful pride in his flowers. If 
ye’ll just sit here, now, and Master Richard, 
I’ve no forgot ’twas the pink-sprigged Haviland 
china ye loved best. ’Tis like the old days to be 
settin’ it out again.” 

“Isn’t she a darling!” Anne exclaimed, as Ellen 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 61 

bustled out of the room. “She thinks you’re still 
about ten years old, Doctor Dick. She’s awfully 
fond of you, isn’t she?” 

“I’m proud to say she is. And Dougal too, 
if I m not mistaken. Yes, I told you they were 
fine people. Can you understand them? The 
Scottish burr is a little confusing if you’re not 
used to it. Ellen came to this country as a girl of 
sixteen, and Dougal has been here even longer, 
but the Old Country speech still clings.” 

“Oh, yes, I can understand her perfectly,” 
Anne answered. “And I love the way she talks, 
although I couldn’t understand her at first.” 

“So do I,” Patricia agreed. “And I like her 
face, it’s so honest and friendly. I think I’m going 
to like Dougal, too, from the little I saw of him 
last night. Where is he, by the way?” 

“In the garden, I expect. He practically lives 
there. When I was a boy they had a saying, 
‘Brooklyn’s gardens are Brooklyn’s pride,’ and 
ours was always one of the finest of them. Thanks 
to Dougal, it still is. We’ll have a look at it after 
breakfast.” 

Ellen appeared just then, with a smoking plat¬ 
ter of ham and eggs. While they ate the hearty 
and delicious breakfast, the girls and their mother 


62 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

exclaimed with pleasure over the view framed by 
the windows. 

Just outside lay the garden, a riot of color in 
the summer sunshine. It consisted of two ter¬ 
races, separated by a steep grass slope, with a 
flight of flagged steps running down to the lower 
level. It ended abruptly at an iron fence over¬ 
grown with morning glories in full bloom. 

Beyond stretched the bay, its sunlit waters 
ruffled by craft of every description, large and 
small. And beyond them towered the famous sky¬ 
scrapers, sharp and clear against the blue sky. 

“You should have had your first view at 
night,” Doctor Dick said. “But it’s impressive 
at any time of day, don’t you think?” 

“I should say so!” Anne breathed. “Everyone 
told me how big the New York buildings were, 
but no one told me they were so beautiful! And 
that water out there—what is it, Doctor Dick? 
The ocean?” 

“No, the open sea is that way, down past the 
Narrows. What you’re looking at is the upper 
bay, where the Hudson and the East Rivers come 
together at the tip of the island. The Hudson is 
away over there, on the other side of those low 
green buildings. That’s the Battery, where the 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 63 

buildings are, and the Hudson lies just beyond it. 
The water right under our noses here is the East 
River.” 

“East?” Anne looked puzzled. “But I can’t 
see the sun. Shouldn’t it be—” 

“The East River is east of New York,” he 
explained. “We’re in Brooklyn, remember. 
That’s on the farther bank, so the river is west 
of us.” 

“When you look at the East River you’re look¬ 
ing west,” Pat said. “Really, Doctor Dick, that 
doesn’t make sense. No, never mind explaining 
again, I’ll take your word for it. Who was it in 
Alice in Wonderland who made a practice of 
believing one impossible thing before breakfast? 
You’ve given me mine for the day. Oh, look— 
right out there. Is it? No, it can’t be!” 

He followed her pointing finger. “Liberty? 
Of course it is. You knew she was there, didn’t 
you?” 

“I knew she was somewhere, but I certainly 
didn’t think she would be practically in my own 
back yard! Look, Sis—with her torch and every¬ 
thing! Isn’t she cute?” 

“Cute?” Anne began, but before she could 
finish Pat had slid her chair away from the table. 





64 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“I know you haven’t finished your coffee, 
Mums, but may we be excused, please ? Sis, you’re 
through, aren’t you? I’m wild to get outdoors.” 

“Run along, youngsters,” Doctor Dick told 
them. “You’ll find Dougal in the garden, I think. 
He’ll answer all your questions. But remember 
we haven’t much time to spare.” 

The girls hurried through a side door, to find 
themselves in a narrow pergola which ran along 
the open side of the house to the garden at the 
back. It was a cool green tunnel of grapevines. 
As they came to the end of it, they encountered 
a figure in blue denims ascending the stairs from 
the lower terrace. He greeted them smilingly. 

“We only have a little time before we go to 
the pier with Mummy, Dougal,” Pat said. “But 
we simply had to see your garden.” 

Beaming with pride, he led them about into 
every nook and flowering cranny. The garden 
was not large, but Dougal had made the most of 
every foot of it. 

When they had descended the steps and had 
inspected the lower terrace, Patricia went to look 
over the spiked iron fence. 

“Good gracious, there’s a street down there!” 
she exclaimed. “Come and look, Anne, right 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 65 

straight down. See the trucks, and the people 
scurrying along?” 

Anne and Dougal came to join her. A rough 
stone wall, solid and grim as a battlement, 
dropped sheerly below them, a good forty feet 
to the narrow hidden little street. Gloomy ware¬ 
houses, alternating with docks, shaded it on the 
opposite side, but on this side the wall ran un¬ 
broken as far as they could see. Only the roofs 
of the warehouses had been visible from the 
house level. 

“What’s the wall for, Dougal?” Pat demanded. 
“It looks like a prison, or a fort.” 

The old man smiled. “ ’Twas built for a peace¬ 
ful purpose, miss. Just to keep the gardens from 
slidin’ downhill into the water, and the houses on 
top of ’em, likely.” 

“But it looks so old!” 

“Ay, it’s old. These houses weren’t built yes¬ 
terday, miss. Yon house of your father’s was 
an old house when I first laid eyes on it, many’s 
the year ago. I’ve heard tell there was a fine 
mansion here before your Revolution. This one 
would be built on its foundations, I make no 
doubt.” 

“Doctor Dick said the house was a hundred 


66 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

years old,” Anne told him. “But it doesn’t look 
nearly as old as the wall down there.” 

“Ah, but looks are deceivin’ there, miss. The 
brownstone house walls ye see are nought but a 
blind, laid on when Master Richard was a wee 
lad, to suit the style o’ the day. Good honest red 
brick it is underneath, and the walls near three 
feet thick. The brownstone’s a fancy job I 
wouldn’t thank ye for.” 

“I like brick best myself,” Anne agreed. 
“Then you think the house is older than the 
wall, Dougal?” 

“By a good fifty year, I’d say, miss. Not that 
there wasn’t always a retainin’ wall here, each 
private owner buildin’ to protect his own prop¬ 
erty. But this job ye see was city work, put in 
at the time the Brooklyn Bridge was buildin’, 
when a mort of improvements was made all 
along the water side. That would make it date 
back only to about 1887 or ’88, for all it looks 
so old.” 

“Goodness, you know a lot, Dougal!” Pat ex¬ 
claimed admiringly. “We’ll be worrying you 
to death with questions, I expect.” 

“The more the better, miss. Ye’ve had no time 
yet to see the house properly, I doubt. Eh, but 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 67 

it’s a rare fine gentleman’s dwelling, is Four 
Chimneys.” 

“The drawing room simply took my breath 
away,” Anne admitted. “It’s so big, and so— 
well, stately.” 

“Ye’ve no seen the dinin’ room yet? Ah, but 
that’s a lovely one, like a laird’s hall at home. 
Fine old walnut panellin’, and a fireplace ye 
could roast a stag in. The room ye breakfasted 
in opens off it. The music room, they called it. 
Ye’ll have noted the domed ceilin’? ’Tis a sweet 
little place, but not to compare with the great 
dinin’ hall.” 

“We haven’t really seen the house at all yet,” 
Patricia said. “I’m dying to explore all of it. 
But we’ve all summer for that. Is that Mums 
calling from the window, Sis? They must be 
ready to start. Thanks for showing us your gar¬ 
den, Dougal. We’ll be seeing you!” 

More tired than they would have liked to admit, 
the sisters sought their room that night. 

They had lingered on the pier, waving fran¬ 
tically, till the great liner slipped out of sight 
downstream. Then, to counteract the sudden de¬ 
pression that gripped them, they had a wildly ex- 



68 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

travagant luncheon in a world famous tea-room. 

Somewhat cheered, they spent the afternoon 
prowling about the shops, marveling at the end¬ 
lessness of them and the variety of the wares they 
displayed. 

Mother had suggested that they take a taxi 
back to Brooklyn, as they were still unfamiliar 
with the city. But Pat was anxious to adventure 
into the subway, pointing out that they might as 
well begin getting used to it. So, after a series 
of false starts and beginnings again, they finally 
emerged triumphantly a few blocks from their 
new home. 

They went to their room soon after dinner, and 
were delighted to find that Dougal had put a 
couple of steamer chairs on the balcony out¬ 
side their windows. Blissfully they relaxed, 
watching the sun set over the water, and the 
lights bloom out in the mass of buildings be¬ 
yond. 

“It looks like a vision of fairyland!” Patricia 
marveled. “No wonder Doctor Dick said it was 
the finest view in New York.” 

“I shouldn’t think there was any doubt of it. 
See Liberty out there, honey? There’s the light 
going on in her torch. Did I bring my hairbrush 


/ 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 69 

from the bedroom? I might as well do my fifty 
strokes now, before I get too sleepy to do it.” 

“Wait till I get my brush, and I’ll join you.” 
Pat dived through the window, and returned to 
begin the hair-brushing ritual Mother insisted 
upon. 

“I’m a perfect cosmopolite now,” Pat an¬ 
nounced complacently. “I’ve seen Times Square 
and Fifth Avenue, and I’ve actually been inside 
the most famous stores in the world. And I’m 
getting the idea of the subway! Pretty good for 
a first day, don’t you think? And we haven’t 
even begun. It’ll take all summer to see all the 
things we want to see. Oh, Sis, are we going to 
have fun here!” 

“That’s what you think now, is it?” Anne 
teased. “Last night you were singing a differ¬ 
ent song.” 

“I know. Honestly, Anne, I don’t know what 
got into me. Those silly notions about the bath¬ 
room—where did they come from? It’s a per¬ 
fectly ordinary old-fashioned bathroom, and it 
doesn’t scare me a bit now. What made me so 
silly?” 

“Oh, you were just tired, and a little home¬ 
sick. I’ve felt that way myself sometimes, at 


70 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

camp. The first night away from home often 
brings it on. So you’re not worrying about the 
ghosts now?” 

“Not a bit. Not after I’ve seen Four Chim¬ 
neys with sunlight flooding in. And Ellen 
showed me how to light the gas. That helps too. 
I needn’t be in the dark unless I want to. And 
I’m never frightened when I can see.” 

“Good for you, dear.” Anne laid down her 
brush and yawned widely. “It’s ridiculously 
early, and I hate to tear myself away from this 
enchanting view. But if you’re as sleepy as I 
am, and I think you are—well, bed’s the place 
for us.” 

The next morning dawned cloudy and dull 
with a threat of rain. Anne suggested that, in¬ 
stead of plunging at once into sight-seeing, they 
wait for a better day, and devote a little time to 
their more immediate surroundings. 

Four Chimneys, itself, held much of interest. 
The girls spent a fascinating morning wander¬ 
ing through the rooms, which were long unused 
but kept in shining order by the efficient Ellen. 
The great dining-room quite lived up to Dougal’s 
praise. The girls were especially intrigued by a 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 71 

painting which hung over the fireplace, a por¬ 
trait in oils of Mrs. Ephraim Driscoll, Doctor 
Dick’s celebrated great-grandmother. 

The painting showed a powerful face, with 
strong jutting nose and jaw below the looped 
bands of iron-gray hair. By some trick of per¬ 
spective, the sharp gray eyes seemed to follow 
one about the room. 

“I’m just as well pleased that we have our 
meals in the music room,” Pat confessed. “I 
know my table manners would never pass her 
inspection! Isn’t she a fearful looking creature, 
Sis?” 

“Oh, I don’t know. She looks commanding, 
certainly, but then she was. We know that, and 
from all we’ve heard, she did a great deal of good 
in the world. A reformer has to be forceful. 
Wishy-washy people never accomplish anything. 
And she accomplished a lot, Doctor Dick said.” 

“I feel sorry for anyone who tried to stop her,” 
Pat agreed. “Listen, I think that’s Ellen calling 
us to lunch.” 

Later in the afternoon Dougal invited the 
girls to go marketing with him. They took a 
roundabout way home through the quiet streets, 


72 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

and Dougal pointed out the many magnificent 
churches and some especially fine old homes. All 
were very similar in architecture to Four Chim¬ 
neys; tall and narrow, set close to the street 
and joined in block-long rows. Edwin Booth 
had stayed in this one, Dougal told them. A few 
blocks away was the house which had sheltered 
Talleyrand in exile. Here Tom Paine had 
lived, and here had been the “pleasant manor” 
of Philip Livingston, signer of the Declaration 
of Independence. Names dimly familiar in 
American history sprang into new life and mean¬ 
ing as the girls realized that those famous men 
had walked these narrow streets, had lifted their 
eyes to look, as they looked now, upon the harbor 
crowded with its shipping from the Seven Seas. 

They approached Four Chimneys from the 
north, stopping while Dougal pointed out the site 
of old Fort Sterling not a stone’s throw from 
their door. 

“What is that in front of our house, Dougal?” 
Pat asked suddenly. “That—I suppose you’d 
call it a car, though I certainly never saw any¬ 
thing like it.” 

The vehicle which stood at the curb was like 
nothing so much as one of the curved glass-sided 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 73 

cabinets in the drawing-room. Tall and narrow, 
its glass sparkled and its black paint gleamed. 

“I don’t suppose ye ever did, Miss Pat,” Dou- 
gal laughed. “Though they were a common 
enough sight some twenty-five years ago. That’s 
what they called an electric brougham.” 

“Oh, you did see one, Pat,” Anne reminded 
her. “Don’t you remember, at the automobile 
show last year, in the ‘Parade of the Past’? 
When they had all the funny old models? Doctor 
Dick told us something about the ‘electrics,’ 
but I didn’t understand it very well. I think they 
don’t have any engines—isn’t that it, Dougal?” 

“That’s it, Miss Anne. Run on a battery, they 
do; ye take it into the garage to be re-charged 
every few miles. Very popular they were for 
ladies, for town use. Perfectly safe, and easy to 
operate. I mind when all the ladies about here 
gave up their carriages and took to electrics 
instead. Eh, these streets were black wi’ ’em 
once. But now—well, yon’s the last specimen 
outside a museum, I’m thinkin’.” 

“Who owns it, Dougal?” Pat asked. “Some¬ 
one you know? It’s at our house.” 

“It belongs to Mrs. Kinnott, Miss Pat, her that 
is Master Richard’s kinswoman. Very set in her 



74 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

ways, Mrs. Kinnott is, and not one to mind that 
her carriage is out of style. She’ll be out makin’ 
her round o’ calls, and I misdoubt she’s stopped 
to leave her card on the two of ye.” 

“Doctor Dick’s Cousin Julia?” Pat asked. 
“And calling on us? Oh, my goodness, let’s turn 
down this side street! Come on, Sis, quick!” 

“I don’t think we can do that, honey,” Anne 
objected. “We’ll have to meet her sometime, 
so it may as well be now. It’s very nice of her 
to come to see us so promptly. Come on, and 
let’s get it over with.” 

They found Ellen anxiously waiting to usher 
them into the drawing-room. 

“She’s been waitin’ a good ten minutes—I 
thought ye’d be back long since,” she whispered. 
“Please don’t stop to primp, Miss Pat. She’s a 
very imperious leddy!” 

Inwardly quaking, the two girls entered the 
drawing-room. A woman who had been sitting 
stiffly in a straight chair beside the fire-place 
stood up. 

The girls’ first impression was of towering 
height. This was due in part to the lady’s ex¬ 
treme thinness, and in part to the white hair piled 
into a lofty “pompadour,” and surmounted by 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 75 


an even loftier hat. The face beneath was long 
and thin, framed in dangling earrings of jet 
which were inset with small cameos. The black 
velvet band about the thin neck was adorned with 
a larger cameo, and still another was pinned to 
the black taffeta dress. 

As the girls advanced down the long room, 
Mrs. Kinnott put up a pearl-handled lorgnette 
and surveyed them calmly. It was not until they 
were within a few feet of her that she dropped the 
glasses and extended a bony white hand. 

“You are Richard Driscoll’s step-daughters? 
I am calling upon your mother, but Ellen informs 
me that she has left the city.” 

“Yes, Mrs. Kinnott, they sailed yesterday,” 
Anne stammered. “They went to London, you 
know, on their honeymoon. My sister and I are 
staying here for the summer.” 

“So I am informed. I consider it very odd. 
I should certainly have supposed that, as I am 
his last living relative, Richard would have felt 
it fitting to present his wife to me.” 

After a brief handclasp, which each girl in 
turn found singularly cold and lifeless, Mrs. Kin¬ 
nott resumed her chair. 

“I’m so sorry—he’d have loved to have had 



76 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Mother meet you, I know,” Anne floundered. 
“But he rather thought you were in Boston, and 
there was so little time—Mother will be very, 
very sorry to have missed you.” 

“Draw up a chair, child, and don’t fidget so,” 
their caller commanded. “You are the elder sis¬ 
ter, I take it? What is your name? Ah, Anne. 
A very good old English name. And—Patricia? 
A ridiculous affectation. We have no Patricias 
in Brooklyn. What possessed your mother to 
give you such a silly name, little girl?” 

“My father’s name was Patrick, and I don’t 
think it’s a bit silly,” Pat answered, indignation 
breaking through her awe. 

“Mind your manners, child!” the old lady an¬ 
swered sharply. “Impudence is something I will 
not tolerate. Take that stool there and sit quietly, 
while I talk to your sister. Children should be 
seen and not heard.” 

Incredibly, although inwardly boiling, Pat 
found herself doing as she was bidden. There 
was something about this masterful old lady 
which compelled obedience. Fury so possessed 
her that at first she heard nothing of the conver¬ 
sation going on above her head. When she finally 
collected her wits, she was thankful that Mrs. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 77 

Kinnott had decided to ignore her. For poor 
Anne was being put through a withering cross 
examination. 

Cousin Julia desired to know, and intended 
to know without further delay, just what kind 
of people Richard Driscoll had brought into 
the family. She apparently had no opinion what¬ 
ever of Middle Westerners, and was prepared to 
have her very worst preconceptions confirmed. 

Patricia could not help admiring the skill 
with which Anne met the ordeal. In her quiet 
way Anne had a great deal of family pride. She 
did not attempt to conceal the fact that Mother 
had worked for her living, but she referred 
quickly to Mother’s late father, a liberal clergy¬ 
man, of whom, as it happened, Cousin Julia had 
heard. Anne mentioned the Southern boarding- 
school at which Mother had been educated, and 
did not neglect the great-uncle who had held a 
minor diplomatic appointment. Anne seemed to 
know by instinct those bits of family history 
which would most impress the aristocratic old 
lady before her. Mrs. Kinnott stiffened when 
Anne, in answer to her question, said that their 
own father had been a newspaper man. Report¬ 
ers, Cousin Julia said acidly, were a prying lot, 


78 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

with no respect for the privacy of others. Anne 
agreed with that, but added gently that Father 
had not been a reporter, but an editorial writer. 
Questioned further, she was able to remember that 
Patrick Patterson had supported, what was evi¬ 
dently in Mrs. Kinnott’s mind, the only possible 
political party. Anne, herself, drew a distinct 
sigh of relief when that bridge was crossed, and 
their caller rose to go. 

Her manner toward Anne was almost amiable 
as she said goodby, although her farewell to Pa¬ 
tricia was a glacial one. Thankfully, the two 
sisters saw her to the door, and watched her trun¬ 
dle majestically off down the street in her an¬ 
tiquated vehicle. 

“Good gracious!” Pat sprawled limply on 
the hall window seat. “I never saw anyone like 
that in all my life! Talk about Medusa—I could 
feel myself turning to stone every time she looked 
at me. One more glance, and you could have 
chiseled a nice inscription on me and set me up 
in any churchyard. What a horror!” 

“Oh, she isn’t so bad!” Anne laughed, although 
she too looked exhausted as she sank down be¬ 
side her sister. “She softened up quite a bit 
there towards the last.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 79 

“Thanks to your masterly diplomacy. I must 
say, Sis, I’ve never admired you more. She cer¬ 
tainly put me in my place, early and completely.” 

“I was terribly afraid you wouldn’t stay there. 
Pat, do you know who she reminds me of? Not 
in looks, of course, but her manner? She’s ex¬ 
actly like I’d pictured Doctor Dick’s great¬ 
grandmother.” 

“The Queen Empress of Brooklyn Heights? 
I’d thought of that too. No wonder local society 
cowered before her. Before both of them, for 
you remember Doctor Dick told us Mrs. Ephra¬ 
im’s mantle fell upon Cousin Julia? I rather 
doubted some of his tales about his great-grand¬ 
mother’s power, but now—well, now I don’t. 
After the specimen we’ve seen this afternoon, 
I’m prepared to believe anything. It’s my per¬ 
sonal conviction that Cousin Julia would have 
Attila, the Hun, and Tamerlane, the Terrible, 
crying like babies if she turned her baleful glance 
on them. And what Mrs. Ephraim would be like 
I don’t dare think!” 

“Well, cheer up, you lived through it this 
time,” Anne laughed. “And I don’t suppose 
we’ll have anything to do with her. It was really 
Mother she came to see, not us.” 



80 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“And she 3 s safe in the middle of the Atlantic 
Ocean, thank heaven. I do think Doctor Dick 
should have warned us there was a basilisk loose 
in his family, though. You don’t suppose there 
are any more of them we haven’t heard about, do 
you? No, she said she was his last living relative. 
Well, that’s something to be thankful for, any¬ 
way 1” 



V 

Ellen and Dougal sympathized warmly with 
the sisters’ desire to see all there was to see in 
New York. If Doctor Dick had casually asked 
his old friends to “keep an eye on them,” the 
girls never suspected it. There was no feeling 
of obnoxious guardianship when Dougal took 
them to the lower East Side, to Chinatown and 
to Harlem. He had acquaintances everywhere, 
and all an old policeman’s expert knowledge of 
his city. Under his guidance they saw and under¬ 
stood far more than they could possibly have 
accomplished alone. 

Ellen, who frankly stated she preferred “nice 
places,” was an equally competent guide to parks 
and museums, to broadcasting studios and movies. 


81 




82 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Thanks to the friendly Scotch couple, they saw 
the city as a whole. They saw its squalor and its 
splendor, with a thoroughness that many lifelong 
residents could not match. 

The weeks slipped by, and gradually their 
thirst for sightseeing was quenched. The days 
were growing very warm, and it was more pleas¬ 
ant to lounge on their balcony, or in Dougal’s 
garden, reading and knitting, just being frankly 
lazy. Mother’s letters came frequently, brim¬ 
ming with happiness. London was wonderful; 
she had made some good friends; Doctor Dick 
was working hard and enjoying every minute. 
She was so pleased to hear that Anne had gained 
three pounds. They must thank Ellen for taking 
such good care of them. 

One morning in mid-July Ellen stopped at 
their door. 

“I’m awa’ to give the attic a good turn-out,” 
she told them. “It’s a bit of the house ye’ve not 
seen, and I thought ye might like to come with 
me. 

“Oh, we’d love it, Ellen!” Patricia sprang up. 
“Come on, Sis, we can do our nails later. I love 
rummaging in attics.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 83 

They followed her past the third and fourth 
floors, with their closed and shuttered bedrooms. 
The magnificent winding staircase ended with the 
fourth-floor landing, and Ellen opened a door 
at the end of the corridor. Ended, too, were 
the damask-hung walls with their gilt cornices. 
The steep narrow staircase here ran between plain 
walls with dingy plaster. 

“This was the servants’ floor,” Ellen told them. 
“Except for the butler and cook, who had the 
suite in the basement where me and Dougal live 
now. But the maids slept up here. A rare lot 
of ’em there was, too, in the old days. When my 
Great-Aunt Jeanie come—mind the step, Miss 
Pat. Let me go by and open the shutters. It’s 
dark as your pocket in here.” 

The sisters waited through a confused clatter 
in the darkness, until suddenly a beam of sun¬ 
light shot through the gloom. 

Ellen called to them from above their heads. 
She was standing at the top of a set of rolling 
steps such as they had seen in the public library. 
The ceiling, where she was, shot upward into a 
square tower, glass-windowed on four sides. She 
had raised a window and opened the outside shut¬ 
ter. Now, pulling the steps along by a rail set 



84 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

beneath the sills, she opened the other shutters, 
letting a flood of light into the room. She de¬ 
scended then, striking thick dust from her hands. 

“How ingenious!” Anne exclaimed. “So that’s 
what the tower is for; to let in light up here. 
I’ve seen it from the garden, and wondered 
whether it was purely ornamental, or had some 
use.” 

“It had still another use once,” Ellen an¬ 
swered. “When Captain Jack’s ship was due— 
ye’ll mind Dougal has told ye of Captain Jack 
and the Brooklyn BelleV’ 

“Oh, yes!” Pat said. “There’s a picture of the 
Brooklyn Belle hanging over our bed, a beautiful 
clipper ship with all sails set. And Captain Jack 
was Doctor Dick’s grandfather, the son of the 
terrifying Mrs. Ephraim. We’ve got that 
straight, Ellen. Go on. What about him?” 

“Why, just that when his ship was due one of 
the men-servants was told off to keep watch in 
the tower here, with a spyglass. The lad would 
sight the Brooklyn Belle when she was a wee 
speck far out at sea—there were no tall buildings 
to get in the way then, remember. Even now ye 
can see a long way, for this is a main high point of 
land. Well, and so that’s how it come about that 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 85 

the dinner was always done to a turn and ready to 
sit down to when the Captain made port. The 
Belle docked at her own slip at the foot of our 
garden. And now, if ye’ll make yourselves com¬ 
fortable, I’ll just be goin’ for my broom and 
pail.” 

Patricia was already at the top of the rolling 
steps. 

“Oh, come on up, Anne!” she cried. “The 
view is marvellous! I do wish we had glasses. 
Even as it is, I can see the real ocean.” 

The deep window ledge made a comfortable 
seat, with an unobstructed view on all four sides. 
Boats like toys plied about the harbor. The 
bridges with their endless strings of motor traf¬ 
fic seemed very small. The tall towers across 
the bay, their windows blazing in the morning 
sun, looked almost near enough to touch. 

Reluctantly they came down again as Ellen 
returned. 

“I could stay up there all day, if there weren’t 
so many other things I want to see,” Pat re¬ 
marked. “I thought we had a wonderful view 
from our balcony, but this—why, it’s like sitting 
up in heaven and looking down on the earth!” 

“You don’t have to come down, Miss Pat,” El- 


86 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

len said. “Ye can stay up there as long as ye 
like.” 

“I can’t, though—not with all these closed 
doors around. They rouse the Mrs. Bluebeard 
in me. This is the queerest room I ever saw. 
No windows in the walls, but doors in every direc¬ 
tion. Where do they all lead to, Ellen?” 

“Open them and see,” Ellen smiled. “This 
middle room, d’ye mind, was the maids’ sittin’ 
room. Some of the doors lead to their bedrooms, 
and some to store rooms. Just make yourselves 
at home, now. I’m going to start to give this a 
good cleaning.” 

The four walls of the enclosed room were, as 
Pat had noticed, almost a solid mass of doors. 
The woodwork was of plain stained pine. The 
girls had been suitably impressed when Dougal 
told them that all the doorknobs in the house were 
of solid silver. Evidently he had forgotten the 
attic, for the knobs here were mottled brown 
china. The stately splendor of the old mansion 
ended abruptly with the fourth floor. The attic, 
constructed for use and not for show, was frankly 

ugly- 

A little flame of indignation blazed in Pa¬ 
tricia’s heart as she opened one door after an- 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 87 

other, revealing the tiny cheerless cells which 
had housed the faithful workers. Their low ceil¬ 
ings sloped at awkward angles. Some had small 
windows and some had none. The attic floor 
was unheated, Ellen told them. It must have 
been bitter cold in winter, and, as it was directly 
under the roof, stifling hot in summer. 

Most of the bedrooms were bare and empty 
now. A few held bits of broken furniture. A 
narrow cot bed, a straight chair, a washstand. 
One hideous china bowl and pitcher provided the 
clue to the painful means by which cleanliness 
had been attained. 

“Ye’ll find the storage chambers more inter¬ 
estin’, I’m thinkin’,” Ellen called to them. “Try 
the corner doors.” 

A pleasant whiff came out of the dimness as 
they opened the first corner door. It was a large 
room, cedar-lined for protection against moths. 
Large cedar chests were built into the walls. 

The girls went about lifting the lids. Piles of 
thick wool blankets, pillows and rugs. Discarded 
portieres of somber velvet. Everything was 
neatly arranged, but not, as Patricia complained, 
very exciting. 

Another storeroom held furniture, so tightly 


88 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

wedged that it was impossible to get past the door¬ 
way. In still another they found books, chiefly 
bound volumes of sermons. Besides the boxes 
of books, there were barrels of china, broken mir¬ 
rors, banished pictures and a miscellaneous col¬ 
lection of bric-a-brac. 

It was the last room of all which proved really 
interesting. Here also the girls found an assort¬ 
ment of odds and ends, umbrellas and walking- 
sticks, and even an unstrung harp. But behind 
these a number of trunks were ranged around 
the walls. 

“Clothes—that’s what I’ve been looking for!” 
Anne cried, lifting the first lid. “Look, Pat, isn’t 
this adorable?” 

Carefully she lifted out a flowered challis tea- 
gown, trimmed with cascading yellowed lace. 
Patricia came to help her, and eagerly they went 
through the trunk. 

The garments were neatly folded, with little 
bags of dried lavender scattered between their 
folds. They were all feminine clothes, silk and 
velvet and lace of the finest quality. 

“Ellen, come here!” Anne called. “These 
lovely, lovely things—whose were they?” 

“Likely there’s plenty belongin’ to all the fam- 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 89 

ily here,” Ellen answered. She dropped her work 
good-naturedly and came to the door. “What 
have ye got hold of, now? Them would belong 
to Master Richard’s mother, Miss Anne.” 

“The ’90’s, and a bit later? Yes, I can tell 
by the styles. Are there any really old ones, 
Ellen? Hoopskirts, and all that?” 

“Not in that trunk, Miss Anne. Ye’d have to 
go back to the old madam’s time for them. There’s 
plenty of hers here, surely. She was a rare one 
for clothes, and never threw anything away. 
The rest o’ the trunks will be hers, mostly.” 

Anne sat back on her heels. “The old madam, 
Ellen? Would that be the famous Mrs. 
Ephraim?” 

“Yes, Miss Anne. I hope you don’t think I 
mean any disrespect, callin’ her that. ’Twas 
Aunt Jeanie’s name for her, and that’s where I 
picked it up. ’Tis an Old Country way o’ speakin’. 
Aunt Jeanie was head parlor-maid here in the 
old lady’s day, and she served her long and faith¬ 
ful. Auntie was gettin’ past her prime when the 
old madam died, but she stayed on with Mr. 
Edward till he married.” 

“Wait a minute, Ellen,” Pat begged. “Mr. 
Edward—who was he?” 


90 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“The old madam’s grandson, Miss Pat. Mas¬ 
ter Richard’s father.” 

“Captain Jack’s son? All right, I guess I’ve 
got it straight. Go on, Ellen.” 

“Well, when Mrs. Edward wanted a young 
girl she could trust with her baby, Aunt Jeanie 
—she was my great-aunt by rights—spoke up 
and got the post for me. I was just a slip of a 
girl when I come over from Scotland. ’Twas my 
first place, and my last one. This here would be 
one of the old madam’s trunks, Miss Anne.” El¬ 
len threw back the lid. “Ay, here’s the gown 
she wore to President Lincoln’s funeral. Purple 
broadcloth, with the foot-wide bands of crepe, 
and the purple bonnet with the mournin’ veil. 
She never wore it but the once. Eh, that’s hand¬ 
some now, wouldn’t you say?” 

“It looks perfectly gruesome to me!” Pat 
shuddered. “This is pretty, though. The green 
velvet with the little silver-embroidered jacket. 
She must have been quite a dressy person. I sup¬ 
pose her social position required it. She was 
quite a power hereabouts, wasn’t she, Ellen?” 

“Ye may well say that, Miss Pat. From all 
I’ve heard, the old madam was a rare masterful 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 91 

woman. She ruled her servants, and she ruled 
her family, and she ruled this town, or leastwise 
the part she thought worth it. You couldn’t say 
she led society; it was more like she drove it. You 
were in or you were out on her say-so, and there 
was no gainsayin’ it. If she didn’t call on you, all 
your money and your blue blood and your fine 
belongin’s was so much sawdust.” 

“Sounds like a sweet soul,” Anne laughed. 
“Was your aunt fond of her?” 

“I wouldn’t want to say fond, Miss Anne. 
Auntie went in mortal terror of her, like every¬ 
body else. She paid good wages, and her servants 
were better fed and housed than many—there was 
no pamperin’ of the help anywhere in them days, 
mind. But love her they didn’t, and ye couldn’t 
expect it. Auntie stayed on mostly for Mr. Ed¬ 
ward’s sake. The poor wee bairn, he had a hard 
furrow to plough, that he did. ’Twasn’t much 
Auntie could do to soften it, but what she could 
do by stealth she did.” 

“Do you mean she was cruel to him, Ellen?” 
Pat asked. “Her own grandson?” 

“I’ve not said that, Miss Pat. There’s no doubt 
the old lady loved the child fiercely. But she was 


92 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

determined to make a man of him after her own 
pattern, and she took a rare stern and hard road 
to it. No softness, no tenderness—and him a 
gentle timid child and easy hurt. Many’s the 
time, when he’d been sent supperless to bed for 
some little slip, Auntie carried her own bite and 
sup up to him. He never forgot it, neither. He 
saw to it that her old age was provided for, and 
decent burial when she passed on. Eh, poor old 
Aunt Jeanie, she give him all the motherin’ he 
ever had.” 

4 ‘What about his own mother?” Patricia asked. 
“Didn’t she have anything to say about it?” 

Before Ellen could answer Dougal’s voice 
hailed them from below. In a moment he ap¬ 
peared at the head of the stairs. 

“What sort of house is this?” he demanded in 
mock indignation. “Don’t a workin’ man get fed 
these days? Here it’s gone twelve o’clock, and 
not a hand turned in the kitchen.” 

“Oh, Dougal, it’s all our fault!” Pat cried. 
“We’ve been keeping Ellen from her work up 
here. Look, we’ll come down and lend a hand. 
And then you’re coming back up here, aren’t 
you, Ellen? We haven’t half begun to explore 
the trunks. Oh, this is fun—I do love attics!” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 93 

Lunch was a hasty meal for the girls. And 
as soon as it ended they hurried back to the attic, 
leaving Ellen to follow later. 

When she came, she brought Dougal with her 
to help with the cleaning. He unearthed a full- 
length cheval mirror for them, and set it up under 
the tower windows where the light was strongest. 

They spent an enchanted afternoon digging 
in the old trunks, running back and forth to try 
on some costume which took their fancy. Anne 
saw to it that each box was repacked as they fin¬ 
ished with it, and Ellen looked on with silent 
approval. 

They came at last to a large round-topped 
trunk in a far dark corner. Unlike the others, it 
was locked. 

“Ellen, how about this?” Pat called. “Have 
you the key to this trunk?” 

Ellen came to the doorway. “The old horse- 
hide ! No, Miss Pat, there’s no key to that. Never 
has been, in my time. It used to worry me, for 
I like to air the things once in awhile, to make 
sure the moths haven’t got at ’em. That’s why I 
keep the others unlocked. There was that many 
keys I fair went crazy keepin’ track of ’em, and 
there’s no sense in locks where there’s none to 


94 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

steal. But I never could find a key to fit the old 
horsehide, so whatever’s in there has not seen 
the light of day these many years.” 

“But how disappointing!” Pat fingered the 
massive lock. “It looks so old, too, really the 
oldest of the lot. I suppose it was one of Mrs. 
Ephraim’s? Oh, I do wish we could get inside!” 

“And haven’t ye seen enough old clothes for 
the day, Miss Pat?” Ellen smiled. “It’ll just be 
some more o’ the same, I make no doubt.” 

“Yes, I know, but—oh, there’s something so 
tantalizing about a locked box that you can’t get 
into! Don’t you feel it too, Sis? Aren’t you 
wild to see what’s in this one, just because we 
can’t?” 

“Well, I’ll admit I’m curious,” Anne answered. 
“It’s a pretty common feeling, I guess. There 
was Pandora, and Bluebeard’s wife—and Adam 
and Eve, for that matter. But I don’t exactly 
see what we’re going to do about it, darling. It’s 
certainly locked tight.” 

“We could force it,” Pat proposed. “Dougal 
could get it open, I know. Oh, Dougal!” 

“Oh, no, Miss Pat!” Ellen protested. “I’m 
not one to meddle with what’s not my property. 
It wouldn’t do, indeed it wouldn’t.” 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 95 

“But whose property is it?” Pat persisted. 
“Surely it’s Doctor Dick’s now? I know he 
wouldn’t care.” 

“Well—” Ellen looked up as Dougal came 
in answer to Patricia’s call. “Miss Pat is at 
me to have ye open the old horsehide,” she ex¬ 
plained. 

“Well, now, that’s a thing I’ve been tellin’ ye 
every year at spring-cleanin’ time,” he answered. 
“The box ought to be opened, there’s no doubt 
of it. Likely the moths will ha’ chewed the inside 
to dust by now. ’Twould be no task at all to open 
it with my chisel.” 

“I think there’s a bit of Pandora in you too, 
Dougal,” Anne laughed. “But he’s perfectly 
right, Ellen, it should be opened. If there are 
clothes inside, it’s doing them no good to be shut 
away from the air for years on end.” 

“I know that well, Miss Anne. And I don’t 
like to be makin’ difficulties. If you young leddies 
are willin’ to take the responsibility—” 

“Oh, we will, of course we will!” Pat cried. 
“Doctor Dick won’t mind, I know, but we’ll tell 
him it was our idea entirely. Get your chisel, 
Dougal.” 




96 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

The trunk’s contents looked as though they 
had been thrust in hastily by an angry hand. 
There was no attempt at order. Delicate gar¬ 
ments had been ruthlessly wadded and crumpled. 
Shoes crushed a plumed hat, a broken scent bottle 
had scattered treacherous slivers of glass. 

“What a job!” Ellen exclaimed angrily. 
“Some careless maid has done this, and she’d ’a’ 
got the sack for it, if this had come to Aunt 
Jeanie’s eye.” 

“It’s quite a contrast because the others are all 
so neat,” Anne agreed. “Pat, what in the world 
have you got there?” 

“I’m wondering myself.” Laughing, Patricia 
held aloft a pair of red satin corsets, curiously 
curved, and laced with black silk. “Some sort 

of prehistoric foundation garment, I suppose_ 

but look at the size of it! I’ve heard of wasp- 
waisted ladies, but I never dreamed a human be¬ 
ing could get into this! And the stays every inch 
of the way around—heavens, it makes me gasp 
just to look at it.” 

She laid the absurd little garment on the floor 
beside her, and dived again. H his time she brought 
up a fringed shawl of bright green silk, heavily 
embroidered in large pink roses. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 97 

“A bit gaudy,” Pat commented. “But the em¬ 
broidery is perfect. Here’s a dress. Gracious! I 
thought the shawl was gaudy, but look at this! 
It’s terrific!” 

The frock, made with a tiny pointed waist, 
was in wide glowing stripes of red, yellow and 
black. The full gathered skirt had been partly 
ripped from the bodice. 

“Made by hand, and not very well made,” 
Anne commented, as Pat handed it to her. “No 
wonder it ripped. The stitches are too big, and 
the seams aren’t reinforced at all. That’s odd, 
isn’t it? All the clothes in the other trunks are 
so perfectly finished. I’m sure none of those 
dressmakers turned out a job like this. This wool 
is rather coarse, too. Not like the fine cashmeres 
we found before.” 

“I’ve found some darling little shoes,” Pat said. 
“Cinderella’s, I’d say, by the size of them. This 
tooled leather is beautiful—and see the high red 
heels! Do you suppose she really walked in 
them? Here’s a white silk dress—oh, how lovely! 
You can’t criticize these stitches, Anne. And 
look at the embroidery!” 

“That is lovely,” Anne agreed. “It might be 
a wedding dress. I wonder—get that wad of 





98 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

white lace down there, dear. Yes, it is. A bridal 
veil!” 

This trunk, in spite of its crumpled disorder, 
was by far the most interesting one they had 
found. Besides clothing, it contained a number 
of personal belongings quite unlike anything 
they had yet come across. There were manicure 
tools, high carved tortoise-shell combs, silver- 
backed brushes, and a cardboard box of what 
could only be called cosmetics. Odd little pot¬ 
tery jars of hardened creams and gummy lotions, 
a large china box of white powder with a swans- 
down puff, sticks of charcoal and a reddened 
rabbit’s foot. And—yes, a round tin whose stub¬ 
born lid came off to reveal a thick red paste. 

“Rouge!” Patricia exclaimed incredulously. 
“But, Sis, it simply can’t be—there’s something 
wrong somewhere! No one but actresses used 
make-up in those days, you told me that yourself. 
And the old madam wouldn’t have had an actress 
in her house, would she? What in the world—” 

“I don’t understand it either,” Anne confessed. 
“There’s something odd about this trunk, any¬ 
way. It’s different from all the rest. Those 
clothes were rich and lavish, but they were— 
well, sedate. I don’t mean Doctor Dick’s moth- 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 99 


er’s, of course, but the older ones, the ones that 
belonged to Mrs. Ephraim. They looked like 
her. Like the picture you’d get from what we’ve 
heard about her. A very conventional dowager, 
and all that. But these—why, they aren’t her 
at all, they’re as far away from her as you could 
possibly get. They couldn’t have belonged to 
her.” 

“Maybe when she was younger?” Pat ventured. 
“There’s the wedding dress, you know. Maybe 
this was her trousseau.” 

“She was never married in red satin corsets!” 
Anne said positively. “She couldnt have been— 
not if she chose those olive greens and plum 
colors and dove grays for the rest of her life. 
She couldn’t have jumped from these clothes to 
those, I know. People’s tastes don’t change that 
much. Besides, there are the little red-heeled 
slippers, and the make-up—that was none of 
hers. This trunk belonged to somebody else.” 

“Somebody young, and gay, who loved bright 
colors and didn’t care whether they clashed or 
not,” Pat supplied. “But how mysterious! Was 
there ever anybody like that in the family? I 
certainly never heard that there was. Ellen!” 

“They went back to the blanket room. Dougal 



100 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

was quite disappointed when he saw there were 
only women’s clothes in the mysterious trunk— 
I think he expected pirate gold. You shouldn’t 
be calling Ellen from her work every minute, 
honey.” 

“Yes, but I have to know! Anyway, here she 
is. Ellen dear, look at these things. They never 
belonged to the old madam, did they? These 
slippers, and the rouge! Whose were they?” 

Ellen hesitated for a moment, as though re¬ 
luctant to answer. The she said slowly, “I 
couldn’t say for certain, Miss Pat. Happen 
these were the belongin’s of the Spanish bride. 
Tis the first trace of her I’ve ever come upon, 
and I misdoubt now this trunk was locked for 
a good reason.” 

“What do you mean, Ellen?” Anne’s eyes wid¬ 
ened. “What reason? Have we stumbled upon 
a family skeleton?” 

Ellen did not smile. “I’m thinkin’ ye have, 
Miss Anne. Better to put the bit things back 
in the box and think no more of ’em.” 

“But Ellen!” Pat burst into quick protest. 
“You can’t just leave us in the air like this. Who 
was she what did she do? The Spanish bride, 
you said. Whose bride?” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 101 

“Captain Jack’s, Miss Pat. The one he brought 
home from California, in the days of the gold 
rush. There now, will that no content ye?” 

“I should say it won’t! A Spanish bride 
from California—why, that’s right down your 
street, Sis! Come on, Ellen,” Pat coaxed. “If 
it’s a secret, we’ll cross our hearts never to tell 
a soul. And we’re in the family now, you know. 
It isn’t as if we were outsiders. But you must 
tell us, you simply must! Help me to persuade 
her, Anne.” 

“We’d like to hear, Ellen,” Anne said. “But 
if it’s something you’ve promised not to tell—” 

“I made no promise, Miss Anne. The old 
madam told Auntie that her name was never to 
be mentioned in this house, and Aunt Jeanie 
passed on those orders to the other servants. But 
that was long before my time. The old madam 
was in her grave when I came to the house, and 
the whole sad business long forgotten. The little 
I know is what Auntie let drop in her old age, 
when she grew childish like, as old folk will. 
Eh, ye won’t want me to be rakin’ up the story 
now, Miss Pat. ’Tis a sad one, with a bitter sad 
end. Ye’d be no better for hearin’ it.” 

“Ellen, I could shake you!” Pat cried. “Every 


102 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

word you say just adds fuel to the flame of my 
curiosity. What happened to the Spanish bride? 
Was she murdered in this house? Oh, that was 
it. I know it was! Who did it? The old madam? 
I wouldn’t put it past her. And does the poor 
little senorita walk the dark corridors by night, 
wailing and moaning—ooh, Sis, didn’t I tell you 
the house was haunted? I knew it, that very 
first night—” 

Pat’s speech had begun jokingly, but her sis¬ 
ter saw with concern that the picture her vivid 
imagination painted was growing all too real 
to her. 

Anne turned despairingly to Ellen. “You see 
what you’ve started, Ellen dear. She’ll go on 
from there, making up one fearful detail after 
another, and about bedtime tonight she’ll get her¬ 
self worked into hysterics over this ghost.” 

“But there’s no ghost, Miss Anne!” Ellen 
twisted her work-reddened hands in confusion. 
“I said nought of a ghost! And as for murder 
—why, such a wicked thought never entered my 
mind. I can’t think where Miss Pat gets her 
ideas from, indeed I can’t!” 

“None of us can, but she gets them, just the 
same,” Anne answered resignedly. “I really 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 103 

think, Ellen, you’ll have to tell us the story of 
the Spanish bride now. Otherwise, there’ll simply 
be no living with Pat.” 

“How well you understand me, sister dear!” 
Pat dragged a low steamer trunk forward. “Sit 
right here, Ellen, and make yourself comfy. 
Begin at the beginning, and don’t leave out a 
single word.” 

With a sigh Ellen yielded, sinking upon the 
trunk with the girls on the floor at her feet. 

“There’s no reason ye shouldn’t have the truth 
of it, if so be the truth’ll rid your brain of them 
wild notions, Miss Pat,” she said, more severely 
than they had ever heard her speak. “And I 
hope when I’m through I’ll hear no more o’ 
ghosts and murders.” 

“Yes, Ellen,” Pat answered meekly. “I’ll be 
good. But please, please —we’re simply quiver¬ 
ing with impatience. Do get on with it, won’t 
you? 

“I’m beginnin’ now, Miss Pat. This is the 
way it was.” 



VI 


“Captain Jack Driscoll was well known in 
the shippin’ trade,” Ellen began. “His Brooklyn 
Belle was as fine a clipper ship as ever spread her 
sails. When the gold rush to California begun, 
back in ’49, the Brooklyn Belle carried many a 
load of treasure-seekers safe round the Horn. 
Captain Jack was a fine proud gentleman, by all 

104 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 105 

accounts, and could ’a’ had his choice of the Brook¬ 
lyn young leddies. But when he chose a bride 
twas none o’ them. Instead he brought back this 
strange wild Spanish creature for his wife.” 

“What was her name, Ellen?” Anne asked. 
“Do you remember?” 

“That I don’t. Dona something-or-other she 
called herself, but the servants was told to call 
her ‘Mrs. Jack,’ like they do in this family.” 

“Dona—oh, it’s on her fan, I think,” Pat cried. 
“The little ivory one, Sis, wait till I get it. There 
was some writing in gold—yes, here it is. ‘Dona 
Ignacia Castillero’,” she spelled out the faint 
gilt letters. 

“The Castilleros—why, I know about them!” 
Anne exclaimed. “Don Diego Castillero com¬ 
manded the military escort of Father Junipero 
Serra, when he went north from Mexico to found 
the first missions in Old California. General Luis 
Castillero was one of the early Spanish governors, 
and another Castillero—I’ve forgotten his name 
—was military commandant at the Presidio of 
Monterey. They had a famous country estate 
called el Ranclio de Refugia , and—” 

“Anne, please!” Pat interrupted. “You know 
all about the early Castilleros and that’s fine. 






106 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

But only Ellen knows about Dona Ignacia, and 
she’s the one we’re interested in. Will you keep 
still and let Ellen tell us?” 

“Oh, all right. But I do know about them, 
Ellen. They were one of the most prominent 
of the Californian families.” 

“That may well be, Miss Anne,” Ellen an¬ 
swered. “It made no difference to the old madam. 
They weren’t her kind of gentry, and as far as 
she was concerned there was no other kind.” 

“But that’s ridiculous! You have no idea how 
proud those Spanish families were, Ellen. Why, 
all Americans were just riffraff to them—yes, 
even Brooklyn Americans. I’m surprised they let 
their daughter marry one.” 

“ ’Twas a very hasty love match, Miss Anne, 
and I don’t know that her family had any more 
to say about it than his. Anyhow, there it was. 
He married her and brought her home to his 
mother. And then the trouble commenced.” 

“What kind of trouble, Ellen?” Pat asked. 
“Didn’t she get on with her mother-in-law?” 

“They were not two who could ever have got 
on, Miss Pat. The old madam was a determined 
woman who must rule or ruin. The young one 
was a spoiled beauty who’d never been crossed. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 107 

Ye can see they’d be flint and tinder to each other. 
The sparks begun to fly before she’d been twenty- 
four hours in the house, my auntie said. The 
old madam, wishin’ to put the best face on things, 
gave a dinner party for her to meet all the fam¬ 
ily’s friends. And that party was a scandal to 
set the tongues waggin’ and clackin’ for many’s 
the day.” 

“Scandal, Ellen?” Pat wriggled delightedly. 
“Next to romance, I adore scandal—and this 
seems to have a touch of both. Do get on with 
it. What happened at the party?” 

“Young Mrs. Jack come down in scarlet silk, 
with a lace mantilla over her hair—an outrageous 
get-up to begin with. But ’twas nothing to the 
face on her. Painted and powdered she was, 
and her eyes smudged with charcoal to make ’em 
look bigger. Not that she needed such fixin’s, 
pretty as she was already. I can’t think what 
made her do such a daft thing.” 

“Oh, but I can, Ellen!” Anne interrupted. 
“It was simply a custom of her people. Latin- 
American women have always gone in for heavy 
make-up. They still do. Any traveler in Mexico 
or South America will tell you that. I don’t 
know why they started it in the first place, but 




108 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

I do know they’d feel positively undressed with¬ 
out it. Dona Ignacia wanted to do honor to her 
guests by looking her best, and she tried to do 
it in the way her mother had taught her.” 

“Would that be the way of it, Miss Anne? 
I’d no knowledge of that. Nor had the old 
madam, seemin’ly. She’d not seen the young 
person till the guests were assembled, so there 
was nought she could do, but Auntie said you 
could tell she was fumin’.” 

“I can understand that, too,” Anne agreed. 

“Ay. And then the way the poor silly body 
carried on! She sat fannin’ herself at table, and 
rollin’ her eyes at the gentlemen over her fan 
till their wives were fair vexed. Would that be 
another o’ they heathen customs now, Miss 
Anne?” 

“Of course it would!” Anne laughed. “She 
was used to gallantry and compliments, and she’d 
been taught to flirt as one of a young lady’s most 
charming parlor tricks. It didn’t mean anything, 
it was just a form of good manners to her.” 

“Maybe so, Miss Anne, but ’twas most unfor¬ 
tunate. And there was worse to come. For half¬ 
way through the dinner, the orchestra, which was 
playin’ in the music room, begun some kind of 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 109 

fast gypsy music. Well, ye’ll never believe what 
that silly little Mrs. Jack done then!” 

“Wait a minute—I think I can guess!” Anne 
interrupted. “She got up from the table, didn’t 
she, and began to dance? All by herself?” 

“Miss Anne, I marvel at ye!” Ellen was wide- 
eyed. “ ’Twas what she did, for sure. And such 
dancin’ as it was; snappin’ her fingers and flingin’ 
her skirts about. None o’ the company had ever 
seen the like.” 

“El sol, I expect, or maybe el jota ” Anne 
said thoughtfully. “You must be tired of hearing 
me say this, Ellen. But again—she was only do¬ 
ing what she’d been brought up to do. Cali¬ 
fornian dinner parties lasted four or five hours, 
and there was always dancing and singing be¬ 
tween the courses. It was a hostess’s duty to 
start it if the guests didn’t. She’d have thought 
her party a terrific failure without it. But— 
oh, the poor child! I can see how it must have 
looked to the people here. What did they do?” 

“Aunt Jeanie was helpin’ Mr. Lynch, the but¬ 
ler, at the sideboard, and she said it was a sight 
to see the faces round that table. The old madam 
at first was too flummoxed to speak, just sat 
there turnin’ purple, and Captain Jack with his 



110 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

face froze into horror. Finally the old lady lifted 
her hand, and the music stopped short.” 

“And is that the scandal?” Pat asked. “1 don't 
see anything so dreadful in that. As Sis says, 
she didn’t know any better.” 

“There was more to come, Miss Pat. For as 
she came back to the table, one of the ladies tit¬ 
tered a bit and said something behind her hand. 
Mrs. Jack didn’t know much English, but she 
heard it, whatever it was. And she hauled back 
and slapped that lady, hard, across her cheek. 
And then she burst out cryin’ and run from the 
room. That was the end of her first dinner party.” 

“Another old Spanish custom, Sis?” Pat asked. 
“You seem to be an authority on the subject.” 

“Slapping a guest? Good gracious, no! But 
the poor child—you can hardly blame her. Think 
how she must have felt. Probably her dancing 
was much admired at home. But here, instead 
of the applause she’d always had, they stopped 
her in the middle of it, and whispered, and made 
fun—oh, that’s no excuse, of course. But she 
had plenty of provocation, and I expect she 
was quick-tempered, like all her people.” 

“Eh, she was a hot-tempered young thing, for 
sure. The old madam took her well in hand after 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 111 

that. She set out to teach her to behave like a 
lady, and I’m not sayin’ she didn’t succeed in 
the end. But ’twas a woeful weary task, for the 
young one couldn’t bring herself to submit to 
guidance till her spirit was fair broke in her.” 

“I can imagine it was broken, all right,” Pat 
said. “You know, Ellen, the more I hear about 
the old madam the less I like her. What did 
she do to the poor thing? Beat her? Starve 
her?” 

“There was no heatin’, Miss Pat. I’m no 
sayin’ I didn’t hear tales o’ bread and water, and 
lockin’ her in her room. But ’twas well meant, 
for the poor creature’s own good. She was 
nought but a wilful child, and she had to learn 
discipline if she was to live in this house.” 

“But she was a married woman!” Pat pro¬ 
tested. “What did her husband say about it? Did 
he approve of having his wife treated like a 
naughty school child?” 

“That I couldn’t tell you. Captain Jack was 
awa’ the most of the time, on long voyages. 
Aunt Jeanie’s thought was that he was early sick 
o’ his bargain. He’d been swept off his feet out 
there in the West, seein’ the girl amongst her 
own kind, so different and romantic-like. But 


112 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

when she made him a laughin’-stock at his own 
table—well, he was his mother’s son, Miss Pat. 
A proud man, and ill-suited to ridicule. May¬ 
hap he was glad to hand her over to his mother 
to make what she could of.” 

“But Dona Ignacia must have had her pride, 
too,” Anne commented. “I wonder that she en¬ 
dured it. Why didn’t she go back to her own 
people?” 

“Perhaps for that very pride, Miss Anne. Ad¬ 
mit to her kinsmen that she had made a mistake? 
Or more likely, ’twas that the old madam would 
not allow it. She’d set herself to make a creditable 
wife o’ the young thing, and to beat against her 
will was like to beatin’ against a rock. I’m only 
surmisin’, mind ye. In her place I’d ’a’ gone 
back to my own, though I crawled on my knees 
there.” 

“What finally happened, Ellen?” Pat asked 
impatiently. “You were right when you said it 
was a sad story. What was the end of it?” 

“There’s not much more, Miss Pat. Things 
went on, with the old madam grimly determined 
to shape the creature to her will, and she pullin’ 
back every step, stormy and sullen by turns. But 
by and by her little baby was born—that would 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 113 

be Mr. Edward. And for a space that brought 
peace, for the old lady and the young one both 
worshipped the child. But he was no more than 
christened when the old madam begun assertin’ 
herself. He must be brought up her way, to 
be a true Driscoll. The young mother fought 
like a tiger to keep the say-so over him, but 
Captain Jack backed his mother up. A nurse 
of the old madam’s choosin’ was brought into 
the house, and the mother shoved to one side. 
She had nothing to say at all.” 

“How utterly hateful!” Pat burst out. “And 
Captain Jack allowed it? A fine husband he 
must have been!” 

“Eh, we’ll not speak harsh o’ the poor young 
man, Miss Pat, torn betwixt two wilful women. 
For before the babe was short-coated word came 
that the Brooklyn Belle was lost at sea, and her 
young captain with her. ’Twas then, with hus¬ 
band and child both taken from her, that Mrs. 
Jack’s proud spirit broke. She got meek and 
quiet-like, givin’ in all along the line. She wore 
the clothes the old madam chose for her. She 
paid calls and helped at teas, givin’ offense to 
none, but with no word to say for herself. Most 
of her time she spent in her room—that would 


114 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

be the one ye have now. Long hours she sat at 
the window, gazin’ out to sea, or mayhap workin’ 
at her needlework embroidery. And then, over¬ 
night, she disappeared.” 

“Disappeared?” Pat echoed. “What do you 
mean by that, Ellen?” 

“ Just what I say, Miss Pat. One mornin’ Aunt 
Jeanie went to call her, and she was not in her 
room. No sight nor sound of her has been seen 
from that day to this. There was a letter on her 
pillow, addressed to Mrs. Ephraim. Auntie took 
it to her. She read it through twice, with a face 
of stone. Then she tore it into bits, and tossed 
the bits into the fire. ‘My daughter-in-law has 
left us, Jeanie,’ she said, in a strong, steady voice. 
‘You may inform the other servants.’ Just that, 
and no more. Except that, as Auntie was leavin’ 
the room, she called her back. ‘I wish no gossip 
about this affair,’ she said in that same firm way. 
‘Any servant who mentions my son’s widow, to 
me or to anyone else, will be instantly dismissed.’ 
And so far as I know, that’s the last time her 
name was spoken in this house till now. What 
Aunt Jeanie told me, in the little cottage Mr. 
Edward bought her to end her days in, can’t be 
said to count,” Ellen added hastily. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 115 

“No, of course not. But, Ellen,—that’s an in¬ 
credible story!” Anne said. “People don’t just 
vanish off the face of the earth, you know. Where 
did she go? What happened to her? Didn’t any¬ 
body ever find out?” 

“The mistress knew, for there was the letter,” 
Ellen reminded her. “Nobody else. And she took 
the secret to her grave.” 

“What did your aunt think?” Anne asked. 
“She must have had some idea.” 

“She could only guess, like everybody else, 
Miss Anne. In spite of everything, the servants 
must have whispered among themselves. No 
doubt, too, the old madam’s society friends put 
their heads together. Auntie heard none of this, 
for the servants dared not speak of it to her, and 
the ladies wouldn’t. So Auntie never knew if her 
own guess was the common one, or whether it 
came to her alone. But ’twas her thought—” she 
hesitated. 

“Go on, Ellen!” Pat urged. “What did she 
think?” 

“I don’t like to tell you, Miss Pat. But if ye 
will have it—Auntie thought it was likely Mrs. 
Jack threw herself into the bay and ended all her 
troubles with one desperate act, the poor un- 


116 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

ha,ppy creature. That’s just a notion, mind. I 
don’t tell it for truth,” she ended quickly. 

“Suicide.” Anne’s soft voice deepened in dis¬ 
tress. “Oh, Ellen, I don’t believe it—I can’t! 
For one thing, her religion would forbid it. Why 
did your aunt think that? Why not suppose she’d 
run away, back to her own people?” 

“ ’Twas a mortal long journey, Miss Anne, 
and would ’a’ cost a mint o’ silver. Mrs. Jack 
was allowed not so much as pocket-money,” El¬ 
len answered simply. 

“Oh! Well—well, I still don’t believe your 
aunt’s explanation. There’s another one, there 
must be!” Anne insisted. She glanced quickly at 
Pat, and saw that the vivid little face was set in 
lines of horror. 

“It is a sad story, Ellen,” Anne went on swiftly. 
“Maybe you were right—perhaps we’d have been 
as well off if we hadn’t insisted on hearing it. But 
that’s our fault, not yours.” She forced a smile. 
“Thanks for taking all this trouble, anyway.” 

“You’re right welcome, Miss Anne. And re¬ 
member, the two of ye, that the poor soul’s been 
at rest these many years, whatever her troubles 
here below.” Ellen rose creakingly to her feet. 
“And here I sit blatherin’, with my work not half 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 117 

done. Will I repack this trunk, now, Miss 
Anne?” 

“I’ll do it,” Anne answered. “You want to 
get back to your scrubbing, I know. Thanks 
again, and we won’t bother you any more.” 



VII 

As Ellen left the room Anne picked up a lace 
shawl and began to fold it carefully. 

“Let’s take all her things out and pack them 
nicely, Pat. They shouldn’t be jumbled in like 
this.” 

Patricia did not answer. She was sitting very 
still, the little ivory fan on her lap. Now, as 
Anne looked at her, she saw that tears were si¬ 
lently rolling down her cheeks. 

“I can’t—I simply can’t bear it!” she gulped 
passionately. “Here they are, all the poor pretty 

118 











MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 119 

things she brought to be so happy with. Oh, 
Anne, can’t you just see her? So proud and gay 
when she sailed away with her young husband. 
She was leaving her home, and her people, every¬ 
thing she’d ever known, to go with him because 
she 1-loved him! And—and look what they did 
to her! I tell you I can’t bear it!” 

“Honey, hush. You mustn’t get yourself all 
worked up about this. I know it’s a sad story, 
but—” 

“It isn’t a story, Sis! Can’t you understand? 
It’s real, it happened, right here in this house! 
Oh, I told you this was a dreadful house; didn’t 
I tell you, that very first night? I knew that 
terrible things had happened here—I could feel 
it. But I never dreamed—” 

“Pat, you aren’t going back to that!” Anne 
cried distressfully. “I made Ellen tell you the 
true story on purpose, so you wouldn’t be terri¬ 
fying yourself with wild, impossible imaginings. 
Use your common sense! I’m just as sorry for 
poor little Dona Ignacia as you are. But I can 
see, and surely you can, that she brought most 
of her troubles on herself. She married Captain 
Jack of her own free will, didn’t she? He had 
a right to expect that she’d make him a wife 




120 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

he wouldn’t be ashamed of. If she’d really tried 
to adapt herself to the life here—” 

“Anne!” Indignation dried Pat’s tears for the 
moment. “Do you mean you’re on their side? 
You think it was right, then, the way they treated 
her?” 

Anne sighed. “I’m not taking anyone’s part, 
darling,” she said patiently. “I’m simply trying 
to see all around the question. His mother was 
Captain Jack’s idea of what a lady ought to be. 
When he saw how far his wife was from that ideal, 
it’s only natural that he was disappointed in her. 
But the girl was young, and he had confidence 
that his mother could train her in American ways. 
I don’t really see that he was greatly to blame.” 

“All right, we’ll leave Captain Jack out of it, 
then. He wasn’t home much anyway. I’ll even 
concede that maybe he didn’t know about the 
bread and water, and all that. But his mother! 
Are you going to find excuses for that—that 
monster?” 

“She wasn’t a monster, dear. She was a con¬ 
ventional, stiff-necked dowager, acting from the 
highest of motives. Now, wait! I’m not talking 
about her methods . But you can’t find anything 
discreditable in her motives. She lived here, she 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 121 

knew the standards of her community. To us 
they were ridiculously narrow, prudish standards, 
but that’s beside the point. They did prevail, 
and anyone who expected to live here in peace 
had to conform to them. That’s true in any long- 
established, aristocratic community. It would 
have been just as true in Monterey, if the young 
couple had settled down there. I expect Ignacia’s 
mother would have been equally disappointed 
in Captain Jack. I don’t suppose he could play 
the guitar, or dance el jota, or perform daring 
feats of horsemanship, and—” 

“Anne, stop—you’re simply trying to side¬ 
track me!” Pat accused her. “I’ll admit—though 
I simply hate to—that maybe the old madam was 
justified in wanting her daughter-in-law to be 
more like the Brooklyn young ladies. That scene 
at the first dinner-party must have been terribly 
mortifying for her, I can see that. But why didn’t 
she talk to her, kindly and gently? Dona Ignacia 
didn’t want to be a laughing-stock, surely. No¬ 
body does. It was just that she didn’t know 
any better. If her mother-in-law had been sweet 
and patient with her—” 

“Well, there you have it,” Anne put in. “Mrs. 
Ephraim was not a sweet and patient woman 




122 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

and that was the whole trouble. I said we couldn’t 
quarrel with her motives, but her methods are 
another matter. The whole tragic snarl arose 
from the fact that she tried to do the right thing 
in the most utterly wrong way.” 

“You don’t approve of the bread and water, 
and taking her baby away from her, then?” 

“Of course I don’t! How can you ask such a 
question? Whatever she may have been in her 
civic life, in her dealings with her daughter-in- 
law Mrs. Ephraim was an unsympathetic, stub¬ 
born, and extremely stupid old woman. There! 
Will that no content ye, as Ellen says?” 

“It’s pretty mild—I can think of a long string 
of stronger adjectives myself. Look here, Sis!” 
Pat’s brows contracted in an effort at thought. 
“You seem to have a pretty clear idea of what 
Mrs. Ephraim was like. Now about this disap¬ 
pearance. Would you say that she had a hand 
in it? Do you think she was capable of—” her 
breath quickened, “of foul playV’ 

“Oh, Pat!” Dismay rang in Anne’s voice. 
“You mustn’t say things like that! You mustn’t 
even think them. It’s Doctor Dick’s great-grand¬ 
mother we’re talking about, remember!” 

“I shouldn’t care if it were our great-grand- 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 123 

mother,” Pat said stubbornly. “Look at the facts. 
She hated Dona Ignacia—” 

“We don’t know that, Pat.” 

“Oh, don’t we? You mean we can’t prove it. 
All right. We’ll say that she tolerated her be¬ 
cause she was her son’s wife. And now that son 
was dead. The old madam had the baby, the 
heir to the Driscoll name she was so proud of. 
She’d tamed the mother by that time, but she 
never knew when Ignacia would break out again, 
in some eccentric act that would set the tongues 
wagging. Don’t you suppose it was a relief to 
her when Mrs. Jack was no longer in the house?” 

“I suppose it was,” Anne admitted honestly. 
“But to accuse her of—Oh, Pat!” 

“I haven’t accused her of anything, yet. I’ll 
admit that when Ellen said it was supposed that 
Dona Ignacia had thrown herself into the bay, 
my first thought was that probably her mother- 
in-law had helped things along with a gentle 
push. But I’ve given that up now.” 

“Well, I should hope so!” Anne relaxed 
enough to go on with her packing. “But what 
did you mean, then? What do you suspect Mrs. 
Ephraim of doing—about the disappearance, 
I suppose you mean?” 




124 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“Yes, I had to give it up,” Pat went on. “After 
you’ve shown me how high-minded she was, it 
really wouldn’t do. Besides, it’s too undignified. 
Common persons stoop to crime; it would be 
quite beneath the noble Madam Driscoll. Just 
the same,” she added vigorously, “I do think she 
had a hand in it. It happened too conveniently 
for her to—well, to just happen. No, it’s no use 
asking me, I don’t know what she did. That’s 
what I’m asking you. What do you think did 
happen to Dona Ignacia, Sis? And how?” 

“Heavens, I don’t know. I don’t believe she 
drowned herself. I told Ellen that. There’s 
nothing left to guess except that she ran away.” 

“With no money? Look here, Sis. How about 
this? What if she was sent away? What if Mrs. 
Ephraim calmly put her aboard a ship and sent 
her back where she came from? Or sent her some 
place else, for that matter? Anything to be rid 
of her?” 

“Well, but—that doesn’t make sense, honey. 
Why all the mystery about her disappearance, 
then? The old madam would only have had to 
say she’d gone back to California. There needn’t 
have been any mystery at all.” 

“That’s true,” Patricia admitted dispiritedly. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 125 

“Mrs. Ephraim didn’t want any scandal. She’d 
surely have concocted some story in advance if 
she’d planned the disappearance. She did know 
where Dona Ignacia went, though,” she remem¬ 
bered suddenly. “There was the letter Jeanie 
found.” 

“We don’t know that it told where she was 
going,” Anne pointed out. 

“That’s the whole trouble—we don’t know any¬ 
thing! It’s all such a hopeless tangle of guess¬ 
work and confusion. If we could just find some¬ 
thing definite, something to go by! Sis, look 
here!” Pat spoke with rare earnestness. “Before 
we leave this house, I’m going to find out what 
did happen. Are you with me?” 

“Pat, darling— please! I know how you feel. 
It’s as if we’d been reading an absorbing mystery 
story, and had suddenly discovered that the last 
twenty pages had been torn from the book. It’s 
tantalizing; it’s infuriating, if you like. But don’t 
you see that there’s nothing we can do about it? 
This all happened ninety years ago. Whatever 
her fate was, poor little Dona Ignacia is long 
since dead. So is her stern mother-in-law—so 
is even the baby she left behind her. The whole 
painful story is long since forgotten. I don’t 




126 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

believe even Doctor Dick knows about it. Can t 
you let it rest?” 

“No, I can’t,” Pat’s eyes were fever-bright. 
“I keep trying to tell you it isn’t just a story 
to me, it’s real! If Doctor Dick doesn’t know 
about it, he ought to. Why, she was his grand¬ 
mother! Can you imagine Dona Ignacia a grand¬ 
mother, in her red-heeled shoes and her lace man¬ 
tilla? I can only see her as a young girl—not 
much older than you, Sis. Homesick and fright¬ 
ened in this big strange house, just as I was that 
first night. Only she had good reason for it, poor 
darling! Why, she slept in our room! Cried her¬ 
self to sleep in our bed, and watched the ships 
from our window, the ships that could have 
taken her back to the home where they under¬ 
stood and loved her. It gives me a horrid guilty 
feeling to think how happy we’ve been in that 
room, the very room where they broke her heart 
for her. She’s real to me, Anne—oh, won’t you 
understand?” 

Little Pat’s face was working uncontrollably. 
Tears were very near. Anne’s own eyes were 
misty, but her voice was quietly reassuring as 
she answered, “All right, dear. If you feel 
that way about her, I don’t wonder that you feel 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 127 

you must find out what happened to her. I 
haven’t the least idea how you’re going about 
it. But if you can think of any way—well, you 
can count on all the help I can give you.” 

“I haven’t slept a wink,” Patricia declared 
at breakfast next morning. 

“Oh, now, Pat!” her sister laughed. “Don’t 
forget I share your bed. I know better than 
that. You were sleeping quite peacefully when 
I woke this morning.” 

“Well, you know what I mean. I did lie awake 
for hours, puzzling over this business of Dona 
Ignacia, trying to figure out where to begin. If I 
could only find something to start with!” 

“To start unraveling the mystery, you mean? 
You still have your heart set on that, honey?” 

“Of course I have! Did you think I was going 
to forget it over night? I’m not going to rest, 
ever, until I know! And you’re helping me, aren’t 
you, Sis? You promised.” 

“I’m helping if I can,” Anne answered. “But 
you’ll have to tell me what you want me to do.” 

“That’s just it, I don’t know what to do! I 
decided last night that the first thing was to find 
out some more about Dona Ignacia. You know 


128 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

—what she thought, how she felt about things 
here. But how am I going to do it? There’s no 
one left who remembers her. And all Ellen 
knows—oh, there you are, Ellen!” She broke 
off to smile at the plate of hot biscuits. “Did 
you hear your name? I was just wishing you 
could tell me some more about poor little Mrs. 
Jack.” 

“I think ye pretty near turned me inside out 
on that, Miss Pat,” Ellen answered, setting down 
the plate. “What were ye wishful to know, now?” 

“Oh, anything and everything! Did your Aunt 
Jeanie talk about her a lot? Try to think of some¬ 
thing else she told you.” 

“Auntie was not one to gab, Miss Pat. She 
aye kept a still tongue in her head most times. 
And this was a forbidden subject, remember. 
The bits she let fall from time to time I’ve already 
told ye of.” Then, as Pat’s face showed her dis¬ 
appointment, she continued slowly, “But there’s 
Auntie’s diary, Miss Pat, if ye’d care to go 
through it. She kept a bit book all her life, with 
the day’s happenin’s set down in it. I’m not 
sayin’ ye wouldn’t find mention of the young 
mistress there.” 

“Oh, that would be perfect, Ellen!” Pat’s eyes 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 129 

sparkled. “Have you got her diary? Do you 
know where it is?” 

“That I do, Miss Pat, though I’ve not set 
eyes on it these many years. ’Twould be in Aunt¬ 
ie’s box, with her prayer-book and her other 
relics. I had it brought to this house when we 
sold her cottage after her passin’.” 

“Oh, how lucky! Could we—would you mind 
if we saw the diary, Ellen? We’ll be very care¬ 
ful of it.” 

“I see no objection, Miss Pat, though I doubt 
not ye’ll be disappointed. I did just glance over 
the books when I packed them away, but I can’t 
call to mind there was much beyond what I’ve 
told ye concernin’ the Driscoll family. Howsom- 
ever, I was not lookin’ for such, and I’d no time 
nor heart to read the books through then. Ye can 
judge for yourselves if there’s anything to interest 
ye. The box is stored in the cellar below.” 

As soon as breakfast was over the girls fol¬ 
lowed Ellen to the basement. Here, besides the 
big sunny kitchen, was the suite of rooms once 
sacred to the butler, and now occupied by Ellen 
and Dougal. The girls were familiar with this 
part of the house, but they had never penetrated 


130 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

to the cellars which were on a still lower level. 

Dougal, reading his paper at the kitchen win¬ 
dow, looked up as Ellen and the girls entered. 

“The young leddies are wantin’ to see Auntie’s 
diary, Dougal,” his wife told him. “You know 
where ’tis, her little hair trunk? You carried it 
down for me.” 

Dougal rose to his great height, his kindly blue 
eyes smiling down on them. 

“Have ye exhausted the Public Library al¬ 
ready, then, with all them books ye’ve been 
readin’ ? Come along with ye, and we’ll see what’s 
to be found.” 

They descended a long steep staircase into 
pitch darkness. The girls waited while Dougal 
lighted a gas jet over the antiquated furnace 
which crouched like a giant black octopus among 
its radiating pipes. 

“ ’Tis a poorly-lit place here,” he apologized. 
“Mind your step, now. I should ha’ brought my 
torch. But I think there’s a bit candle somewhere 
about.” 

He fumbled on a shelf near the furnace, and 
produced a candle-end which he lighted. “If 
ye’ll just come this way—” He turned to one 
of the many low arched doors. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 131 

“What are all those rooms, Dougal?” Pat 
asked, as they followed him. “They look exactly 
like dungeons.” 

“Just ordinary cellars, Miss Pat. There’s the 
coal cellar, and the ash pit, and the wine cellars, 
two of ’em. Then there’d be the laundry room, 
and the root cellar, and some others that I couldn’t 
tell ye myself what their purpose was. You must 
recall that there was no grocery store around the 
corner when this house was built. Families that 
could afford it provisioned themselves for the 
winter, and they had need of storage space.” 

While he spoke Dougal led the way through a 
narrow dark passage toward the back of the 
house. It opened into a large room equipped 
with set laundry tubs. The girls had already 
made the acquaintance of fat Mrs. Monahan, 
who came once a week. Apparently this was her 
domain. 

From his candle-end Dougal lighted a gas jet 
over the tubs. “This and the furnace room are the 
only ones with light to see by. Aunt Jeanie’s box 
would be in the little room off here, I’m thinkin’, 
and I hope I’m right.” 

The cellar adjoining the laundry held a mis¬ 
cellaneous collection of broken furniture, and a 


132 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

small horsehair trunk. Dougal dragged the trunk 
into the lighted room. 

The top tray was completely filled by neat 
bundles of paper-covered school copybooks, tied 
with blue tape. On the topmost one Anne read 
the legend, “1898.” 

“Is there one for each year, Dougal?” she 
asked. 

4< Ay. ’98—that would be the year poor Aunt 
Jeanie passed awa’. And the first one would be 
’47, I’ve no doubt. The year she left the old 
country to seek her fortune in America. Ellen 
has them all in order, ye’ll find. Would ye be 
wantin’ to take the lot upstairs?” 

“I think so, Dougal,” Anne answered. “The 
light’s not good enough for reading down here. 
Ellen wouldn’t mind if we took them all up to 
our room, would she? We’ll take good care of 
them.” 

I want to explore the rest of the cellars some¬ 
time,” Pat remarked, as they turned back. “It’s 
like a medieval castle down here. What’s that 
gloomy-looking cell in there, Dougal?” 

He turned the feeble rays of his candle toward 
the archway she indicated. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 133 


“ ’Tis but the cistern room, Miss Pat. Ye’ll 
note the manhole cover in the floor? There’s a 
made reservoir there, for the storage of rain¬ 
water. The house goes back to the days before 
the city water mains. Drinkin’ water was fetched 
from the town pump on Henry Street, but they 
depended on rainwater for household use.” 

“How disappointing! It looks exactly like 
the dungeon in the Chateau d’lf—you know, 
Sis, where the Count of Monte Cristo spent all 
those terrible years? The stone walls, without any 
windows, and that stone-flagged floor—and oh, 
look! There’s even a rusty chain fastened to the 
wall. Oh, I’m sure there was a prisoner here, 
Dougal!” 

He laughed. “The chain was for the lowerin’ 
of a pail, to bring up water for the washin’, 
Miss Pat. But if ye’ve got your heart set on some¬ 
thing romantical down here, mayhap we should 
search about and find the Smuggler’s Way for 
you.” 

“Smugglers?” Pat gave a last glance about the 
empty cistern room, and stepped back into the 
corridor. Her shadow moved with her, large and 
grotesque on the stone walls. As the candle-light 
flickered other shadows moved with it. Outside 




134 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

the candle’s range darkness crowded close, wait¬ 
ing, menacing— 

An uncontrollable chill rippled across Pat’s 
body. The commonplace cellars seemed to expand 
in the darkness, stretching on and on, one gloomy 
stone dungeon leading into the next. If one 
were lost down here, if there were no small candle, 
no friendly Dougal to lead the way out—oh, what 
dreadful thing might not happen in this weird 
place? 

“You must tell me all about the smugglers 
sometime, Dougal,” she said, and quickened her 
pace. “But right now—oh!” Her hard-won com¬ 
posure vanished in a terrific shriek. Trembling, 
she clung to her sister. 

Something was moving in the shadows ahead 
of them. Was coming swiftly toward them. Twin 
points of green light, a sudden rush, and the 
Thing leaped full at Pat, striking her violently 
in the chest before it slid to the ground. 

Anne stooped down. “Here, Smoky! Don’t 
be silly, Pat. She was only trying to jump into 
your arms—she expected you to catch her. 
Honey, can’t you see it’s only Ellen’s cat?” 

She was carrying the ball of fluffy blue-gray 
fur as they emerged into the lighted furnace 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 135 

room. Smoky cuddled in her arms, purring 
loudly. 

Shamefaced, Patricia patted the furry head. 

“I didn’t know she’d followed us down. And 
in that dim candle-light, she looked the size of a 
circus tiger! I thought—I don’t know what I 
thought. Ellen says Smoky’s the nosiest cat in 
the five boroughs, and I can well believe it. How 
about going upstairs now?” 

“Had enough of the cellars, pet?” Anne asked. 
“I thought you wanted to explore.” 

“I’ve had plenty for today, thank you! And 
I do want to explore, but some other time. And 
not without the strongest electric torch I can 
find. I don’t like things leaping at me out of 
the shadows—no, not even you, Smoky darling!” 





VIII 

When the girls had dumped the books on their 
bed, they found, as Dougal had predicted, that 
the diaries were arranged in order by years. 

“What’s your idea, dear?” Anne asked. “To 
begin at Page 1 of the first one and read right 
through? Here it is. 

8th April, 1847. I, Jeanie Fraser, being new 
come from the village of Nairn in Nairnshire to 
the city of New York in America, do resolve to 
keep this daily journal for the discipline of my 
thoughts and the warding off of loneliness. I have 
today secured my first situation with a lady of the 
name of Markham. She has a fine house in Wash - 
ington Square, and — 

“Oh, never mind that!” Pat broke in. “We 
don’t care about her experiences in Washington 

136 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 137 

Square. Find the part where she first came to 
work here.” 

Anne turned the pages rapidly, chuckling at 
some hastily-glimpsed entry. “She doesn’t keep 
up the formal literary style long—not much time 
for it, I guess. Her entries are short, but they’re 
certainly to the point. Here’s the last of Mrs. 
Markham, on June 20th. Gave in my notice to¬ 
day. Will be put upon no longer . Next she 
seems to have gone to Gramercy Park. There’s 
nothing about Brooklyn in here, Pat.” 

“Well, try the next one, then, 1848. Let me 
see it. Oh, more Gramercy Park. And—what’s 
this? Stuyvesant Square. She must have changed 
again. No, don’t stop to read them, Sis, not now. 
We’ll never get any place. Give me ’49. Oh, 
here it is. 8th March. Four Chimneys, Brooklyn 
Heights. A well-found household. Think I will 
be properly suited here. This is where it begins, 
Sis.” 

Hurriedly they turned over the pages. The 
prim entries expressed continued satisfaction. 
Mrs. Ephraim Driscoll, in the eyes of her parlor¬ 
maid, was a proper lady, like it might be a laird's 
wife at home. 

There were approving notes on social func- 



138 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

tions given at Four Chimneys, which Jeanie de¬ 
scribed as a fine new mansion recently built with 
all modern improvements. The young Scottish 
maid was evidently impressed by her mistress’s 
eminence. There were infrequent references to 
Captain Jack’s visits home. 

It was not until midway in the 1850 volume 
that Pat found the entry she was seeking. 

8th July. A vexing day. The Brooklyn Belle 
made port the morn, carrying Captain Jack and 
his bride! The madam was fair stammagasted , 
having no warning that such was afoot. Caught 
but a glimpse of Mistress J. A slight young 
thing gypsy-dressed. No kind of wife for him , I 
fear. 

“And how right she was!” Patricia sighed. 
“Come on, Anne, let’s settle down to some steady 
reading. This is what we’ve been looking for.” 

Less of Dona Ignacia’s story than Ellen had 
already told them appeared in the rapidly- 
scanned entries. The disastrous dinner-party was 
recorded briefly, with only the comment, The 
young madam seems ill-accustomed to good so¬ 
ciety. Practical Jeanie had concerned herself 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 139 

more with the housekeeping 1 details than with 
the personal life of the family. There was an 
awestruck record of the cost of the new Brussels 
lace curtains, and a fairly detailed review of Mrs. 
Ephraim’s triumphant controversy with the pork 
butcher. 

Of Jeanie’s own personal life there was almost 
nothing. She attended the First Presbyterian 
Church regularly; she banked the major part of 
her wages; she made her thrifty purchases of 
sober gowns and bonnets and recorded their 
prices. A blameless, hard-working life, if rather 
a dreary one, the girls thought. Pat giggled over 
one unexpected entry. Gave the fishmonger's lad 
his right-about this day. Such impudence! Ap¬ 
parently that was as close as Aunt Jeanie ever 
came to romance in her own right. 

The birth of little Master Edward was duly 
set down, and an entry about that time ran, The 
old madam is fair besotted over the bairn. But 
she will have no nonsense. I misdoubt she and the 
young madam will clash here. A month later she 
mentioned a hospital body who had come to take 
charge of the child. 

There were occasional tantalizing glimpses of 
the strife which must have rocked the household 


140 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

in those days. Jeanie’s sympathies seemed to be 
chiefly with Mrs. Ephraim. That was natural 
enough, as Anne pointed out. The older woman 
represented a type with which the Scotch maid 
was familiar, a proper lady like a laird's wife. 
She knew nothing of the entirely different back¬ 
ground which had shaped Dona Ignacia, and had 
no patience with the girl’s inability to make her¬ 
self over at command. 

After the entry recording Captain Jack’s 
death, however, the woman’s attitude seemed to 
undergo some change. The new, meek, spirit¬ 
less Mistress Jack apparently touched her heart, 
as the sullen, tempestuous one had not done. A 
sort of casual friendliness grew up between them; 
cautious on Jeanie’s part, listless and indifferent 
on her young mistress’s. 

Dona Ignacia, it seemed, kept much to her 
room in these days. Jeanie, worried by her pal¬ 
lor, tried to interest her in working in the gar¬ 
den, enlisting the old gardener’s aid. Their ef¬ 
forts were not successful, and the girls skimmed 
over those entries, seeking something more sig¬ 
nificant. 

The only absorbing interest Dona Ignacia 
appeared to have was a tapestry square she was 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 141 
embroidering in fine needle-point. Upon this she 
worked night and day, until her eyes were 
strained to dizziness. She intended this, she told 
Jeanie, as a wall-hanging for the nursery, that 
room which she was allowed to enter only for 
brief formal visits under the jealous eye of the 
hospital nurse. She begged Jeanie to assure her 
that “they” would let it hang there when it was 
finished. She repeated several times that it was 
for her baby, and that “whatever happened” it 
must be given to him for his very own. 

“That’s rather odd,” Pat commented. “I won¬ 
der why she was so anxious ? And I wonder if it 
was given to him? Jeanie didn’t seem so sure that 
the old madam would allow it, and I know she 
wouldn t! It must have given her a good chance 
to be hateful.” 

Mrs. Ephraim Driscoll’s New Year’s Day re¬ 
ception for 1854 was an elaborate affair. Jeanie’s 
diary for several days before and after was given 
to the splendors of the event. Then, without 
warning, they turned a page and came upon a 
longer entry, written in an agitated hand. On 
J an. 10 th the amazing thing had happened. Mis¬ 
tress Jack had vanished from the house. 

Briefly Jeanie reported finding the room un- 


142 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

occupied, with a sealed letter on the pillow. She 
told of the conversation of which they had heard 
from Ellen, but added some further details. 

After ordering Jeanie to see that the servants 
did not gossip, Mrs. Ephraim had gone to Ig- 
nacia’s room, taking Jeanie with her. She went 
straight to the tapestry square and began to 
take it from its frame. Jeanie, helping her, had 
ventured the well-meant remark that it would 
look pretty in the nursery. 

Her mistress had turned to her with a face like 
a thunder-cloud. “What do you mean by thatV 9 
she demanded sharply. 

Jeanie had stammered that Master Richard’s 
mother had meant it for him; she had told her 
so. And Mrs. Ephraim had answered through 
tightened lips, “Nonsense! My grandson has no 
need of such fripperies.” 

“Exactly what I knew she’d say!” Pat tri¬ 
umphed. “All right, Sis. What comes next? 
Hurry!” 

Anne turned the page. “The next day Mrs. 
Ephraim entertained the bishop at dinner. Plans 
were discussed for a new church school for young 
females.” 

“But I mean the next day—the day after 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 143 

Dona Ignacia disappeared. You must have 
turned two pages at once, Anne.” 

Anne shook her head. “For negro females, 
it is—that would be something to do with her Abo¬ 
lition activities, I guess. Oh, yes, I see. The 
bishop was appointing her to a committee for 
educating the colored girls whose freedom the 
church was buying. She went to Boston the day 
after that to raise funds. All right, honey, look 
for yourself. 11 th January, 12th January—there 
it is. All about this freed-slave business, and 
not another word about Dona Ignacia.” 

“But that simply isn’t human! She went right 
on with her good works, just as if nothing had 
happened. Why, the woman must have been 
made of iron! But Jeanie—didn’t she care? 
Doesn’t she say anything else about poor little 
Dona Ignacia?” 

“I can’t find anything. There may be some¬ 
thing later, after the excitement of the old mad¬ 
am’s committee work had died down. I’ll see.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. There can’t be anything 
else that would help us—we know what Jeanie 
thought had happened to her. But—why, that’s 
all, then, isn’t it? All we can find out. And I 
can’t see that it’s the slightest use. I’ll tell you 






144 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

what let’s do now, Sis. Let’s go back over the 
diaries, starting where Captain Jack brought her 
home, up to here. We weren’t very thorough 
before. Now let’s read every word that mentions 
Ignacia at all. Maybe we’ve overlooked some¬ 
thing.” 

“All right.” Anne picked up the 1853 volume. 
“There was a bit I skipped over in here. Let’s 
see. Oh, yes. The young madam questioned me 
today about the Smuggler s Way. She had heard 
the silly story from old Denis, the gardener. I 
bade her not to mind a daft old mans maunder- 
ings. He told me the same parcel of fairy tales 
when I first came, but I paid him no heed. And 
advised her to do the same. 

“Denis, the gardener—he sounds nice,” Pat 
commented. “Anyway, he tried to amuse her with 
fairy tales, which is more than anyone else took 
the trouble to do. What else does it say about 
him?” 

“Nothing more that I can see. Oh, wait, here’s 
something about him, but it’s nothing to do with 
Dona Ignacia. Mr. Lynch, the butler, was 
obliged to reprove Denis today. He caught the 
old man snooping about the wine-cellar, where 
the Captains choicest port is stored. Alas, that 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 145 

the craving for drink should send honest men 
a-thieving. That’s rather a different picture of 
good old Denis, dear.” 

“Well, I don’t care, I still like him. Every¬ 
body drank wine in those days,—oh, you mean 
because he was trying to steal it? How does she 
know? Maybe he had some business down there. 
Anything else?” 

“Not a thing.” Anne straightened her aching 
back and rubbed her eyes. “Do you know, honey, 
we’ve been at this for three solid hours? It’s 
luncheon time this very minute, and I’m starved. 
Let’s wash our hands and go down.” 

“All right. But I’m so disappointed that it’s 
taken away my appetite.” 

They encountered Ellen at the foot of the 
stairs. She was on her way up to call them to 
luncheon. 

“And did ye find Auntie’s diary dry readin’, 
now?” she asked. “She was a plain, sensible 
body, not like them fanciful writers ye’re so fond 
of, Miss Pat.” 

“She certainly says what she means, and no 
beating around the bush,” Pat laughed. “But 
we’re enjoying it. Oh, Ellen, listen. What was 


146 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

the Smuggler’s Way? Your aunt mentions it, 
and it seems to me I’ve heard something about 
it before, quite recently.” 

Ellen sniffed. “From Dougal, I’ve no doubt. 
It’s just an old tale, Miss Pat. One of them 
legends-like that cling round an old house. 
There’s no word of truth in it.” 

“Oh, yes, I remember now.” Patricia crossed 
to the window of the music room. From outside 
came the whirr of a lawnmower. “Oh, Dougal!” 
she called. “Come here and tell me about the 
Smuggler’s Way.” 

Willingly enough, Dougal left his work and 
came to lean against the window sill in the shade, 
drawing his pipe from his pocket. 

“ ’Twas on the tip of my tongue to tell ye 
that story this mornin’, Miss Pat, but something 
distracted me.” 

“I know—that was when Smoky jumped and 
frightened me out of my wits. Tell us now, Dou¬ 
gal. What was the story?” 

“Here it is, Miss Pat. Ye’ll mind,” he be¬ 
gan with comfortable deliberation, “that these 
Heights fell into the possession of the British 
after the Battle of Long Island. They held 
them for the rest of your Revolutionary War. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 147 

The spot was used for a supply depot, and a rest 
billet for men and horses. A farmhouse stood 
on the site of this house, and it was taken over 
for a sort of officers’ club. Gay young blades 
they were, by all accounts. They liked their rum 
and their tobacco, and they thought they were 
doin’ enough for King George without payin’ 
duty to him. So—this is how the story goes— 
they made their own arrangements with the ships 
that plied this way. Whiles a ship would lie to 
in the night just outside the harbor, and whiles 
she’d be visited by a small boat that did not 
tarry overlong. The wee boat, fair loaded wi’ 
contraband, would tie up below here. Ye won’t 
be forgettin’ that the water stretched to the very 
foot o’ the hill in them days? Well, ye see what 
the game was?” 

“You mean they got their rum and tobacco 
straight off the ship, without its having to go 
through the customs and their having to pay 
duty?” Pat asked. “Well, I must say I don’t 
think that was showing much loyalty to King 
George—and his own officers, too! No wonder 
we won the war, if that’s what they were like. But 
the Smugglers’ Way, Dougal. You haven’t told 
us what it was.” 





148 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“That was a secret passage through the cliff, 
and into the cellars of the house, Miss Pat. Dug 
by enlisted men who were told it was part of the 
military defenses, I’ve no doubt. Anyway, that’s 
how the stuff was brought here, safe and secret. 
’Twas never found out, so far as I know. But 
when the British forces were driven from these 
shores, and the first Driscoll got his home back, 
there was the Smugglers’ Way waitin’ for him. 
Whether he ever made similar use of it I couldn’t 
say.” 

“A secret passage—oh, Dougal, how exciting!” 
Pat’s eyes were shining. “Why didn’t you show 
it to us when we were down there? I never hoped 
to see one! Where is it?” 

“That’s a question I’ve often asked myself, 
Miss Pat,” he said regretfully. 

She stared at him. “You mean it isn’t there? 
Oh, Dougal! Then Ellen’s Aunt Jeanie was right 
—it’s only a fairy tale? Not a true story at all?” 

“Now I didn’t say that, Miss Pat. The story’s 
true enough—ye can find it in all the early his¬ 
tories of Long Island. What Auntie disbelieved 
was that the passage was still there, after all 
these years. For ye must recall that the house it 
led to was not this one, but the old Driscoll farm¬ 
house destroyed in the great fire of 1840. Ye’D 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 149 

not be forgettin’ that this is the new house Cap¬ 
tain Jack built for his mother on the ashes of 
the old one.” 

Pat’s face fell. “I was forgetting. This house 
seems so old I can’t imagine its not having been 
here forever. But then—well, the passage 
couldn’t still be here, could it?” 

“And why not, Miss Pat? Earth doesn’t burn, 
and the Way was not in the house, ’twas under 
the garden. Furthermore, it came up in the cel¬ 
lars, and the cellars,” he said impressively, “are 
the old cellars! They didn’t burn either, and for 
why would the Captain tear them up and build 
new ones? There’s no style in cellars like there 
is in houses. Why wouldn’t the old ones serve?” 

“Did they use the old ones, Dougal?” Anne 
asked. “I mean, do you know it for a fact, or are 
you guessing?” 

“Don’t call it guessin’, Miss Anne. It’s more 
deducin’, like. Applyin’ the principles of logic. 
I’ll admit I have no positive knowledge. But 
’tis commonsense to suppose that they did so. 
And besides, that stone-work looks mortal old 
to me,” he finished obstinately. 

Ellen, in the room behind the girls, set down 
a covered dish with a good-natured thump. 

“Now you’ve got him off on his hobby, Miss 


150 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Anne. ‘Deducin’,’ says he! He was on the force 
when I married him, and he aye hankered after 
the plain clothes end o’ police work. Him that 
graced a uniform like few men could! ’Twas 
fortunate the chief never saw it his way, though 
to hear him tell it there’s ne’er a crime he couldn’t 
’a’ cleared up if they’d give him a free hand wi’ 
his deducin’. Your lunch is coolin’, Miss Anne.” 

“Well, thanks, anyway, Dougal.” Pat turned 
regretfully from the window and took her place 
at table. “I suppose it was too good to be true, 
a secret passage right under our feet. But after 
all, we’ve got a more exciting mystery to clear 
up, if we ever can. Ellen, do you mind if we keep 
your aunt’s diaries upstairs for awhile? I’ve not 
finished with them yet.” 

“Honey, you’ll put your eyes out!” Anne pro¬ 
tested. Immediately after luncheon Patricia had 
gone back to the diaries. “That spidery, faded 
handwriting is a terrible strain. Can’t you leave 
them alone for today?” 

“I suppose I might as well.” Patricia looked 
up wearily. “I’ve been over and over the whole 
five years that Dona Ignacia was here, and there’s 
simply nothing to be made of them. I really don’t 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 151 
know a bit more than I did from what Ellen told 

US.” 

“Well, what did you expect? Ellen got the 
story from her aunt. You don’t think Aunt 
Jeanie knew anything about the disappearance 
she hadn’t told Ellen, do you?” 

“I did think she might,” Pat admitted. “But 
—no, I don’t think so, after reading her diaries. 
Her surprise seems real enough. I’m not so sure 
about the old madam, though. She took the news 
of the disappearance very calmly, I think.” 

“Well, that’s natural. That iron pride of hers 
would keep her from making any display before 
a servant, wouldn’t it?” 

“I suppose it would. She did show some feel¬ 
ing, though, when Jeanie asked her about hang¬ 
ing the tapestry in the nursery. I wonder if she 
did it, by the way?” 

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Anne answered. “She 
said she wasn’t going to, didn’t she? Or that he 
didn’t need such—what was her word—fripper¬ 
ies. It doesn’t seem like a very suitable gift for 
a three-year-old boy. I imagine poor little Dona 
Ignacia meant it as a sort of keepsake to remem¬ 
ber her by.” 

“She might have known the old lady wouldn’t 


152 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

want him to remember her, poor child. I don’t 
suppose he was told that he ever had a mother. 
I wonder what he was like when he grew up? 
It seems odd to think that he was Doctor Dick’s 
father.” 

“Why, I have a pretty good idea of what he 
was like, from what Doctor Dick has told us. A 
shy, scholarly man, wrapped up in his books and 
his stamp collections. He didn’t marry until he 
was middle-aged—that would be after his grand¬ 
mother’s death. But he seems to have been very 
happy with his wife. Ellen and Doctor Dick 
both say she was awfully sweet, though she was 
so frail. Then of course he had Aunt Jeanie to 
mother him when he was little. I shouldn’t say 
he had an unhappy life, on the whole.” 

“With that dreadful old woman? Oh, Sis!” 

“She wasn't a dreadful old woman, dear,” Anne 
said patiently. “You’re hopelessly prejudiced 
against her because of the way she treated her 
daughter-in-law. I’ve admitted she was wrong 
there, but that doesn’t mean she was wrong in 
everything else she did. She loved little Edward, 
and though she was strict about his bringing up 
—well, all the Victorians were. I don’t think 
he found it at all difficult to get along with her 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 153 

as he grew older. Doctor Dick joked about 
her, but you can tell he admired her immensely. 
Well, he could only have gotten that admiration 
from his father. Mrs. Ephraim succeeded in mak¬ 
ing a true Brooklyn Driscoll out of her grandson, 
and I’m sure he and she both were quite well 
satisfied with her work.” 

Pat shook her head impatiently, and went 
back to the diaries. Presently she looked up to 
say, “She told Jeanie no less than five times 
that she was making the tapestry for her baby. 
Why do you suppose she wanted him to have 
such a thing?” 

“I don’t know. There were lots of things we 
saw in her trunk that would have done as well for 
keepsakes. I should think—” 

“Oh, Anne, I’ve thought of something!” Pat 
interrupted. “That’s why her things were all 
slammed in the trunk—the old madam did it her¬ 
self, ‘with her face like a thunder-cloud.’ And 
threw away the key. She didn’t want the little 
boy to find anything that would make him ask 
questions about his mother. I wonder, though, 
why she didn’t put the tapestry in there?” 

Anne had no suggestions on that point, and 
Pat resumed her reading. Patiently now she 




154 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

scanned the later diaries, which they had hitherto 
disregarded. 

“Here’s where Cousin Julia comes into the pic¬ 
ture,” she said presently. “The old madam gave 
a ball for Miss Julia Driscoll, home from a fin¬ 
ishing school in Switzerland.” She fluttered the 
pages. “And here’s her wedding, to James Kin- 
nott. ‘Mistress Julia’ seems to have been quite 
a favorite. Jeanie speaks of her ‘receiving’ with 
the old madam on New Year’s Day, and helping 
her on committees—oh, this is dull! Not so many 
social affairs, and more civic projects—His 
Honor the Mayor must have hated the sight of 
her. She was always prodding at him to have 
the streets better lighted, and to enforce the tru¬ 
ancy law. And Cousin Julia right at her elbow 
helping the good work along.” 

She ran through several volumes, and then 
picked up the one lettered “1890.” It fell open 
at a page midway, the neat entries blotched a little 
as though by tears. 

“The old madam’s funeral! And what an im¬ 
pressive spectacle it must have been. Listen to 
the names of the honorary pallbearers.” The 
list she read was awe-inspiring. The names of 
poets, preachers and statesmen, bright still in 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 155 

the pages of history. Jeanie’s grief had not pre¬ 
vented her setting down, with simple pride, the 
full account of the last honors paid to her revered 
mistress. 

Patricia turned back a few pages, and then ex¬ 
claimed in sudden excitement, “Why, this is 
funny. Sis, listen! This was written while Mrs. 
Ephraim was very ill, just a few days before her 
death.” 

She began to read very slowly. 

The mistress sinking fast . Mr. Edward is hasten¬ 
ing home from Paris, where the news reached 
him. J Tis cruel he should have been abroad at such 
a time. And to think that she, herself, urged him 
to go, to read his paper before the foreign gentle¬ 
men. 

“What do you suppose she means by that?” 
Pat looked up. 

“I don’t know. Some international society of 
stamp collectors, I imagine. Go on, honey.” 

I thank Providence that Mistress Julia is to 
hand. Today a queer thing happened. Mistress 
Julia came out to me from the sick-room and 
asked if I knew aught of a tapestry. The mistress 


156 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

was ashing for it, she said . I was fair perplexed. 
But at last I bethought me of the bit fancy-work 
done so long ago by Mistress Jack. 

“You see, Sis?” Pat said eagerly. 

Anne came to look over her shoulder. 
“Hurry!” she urged. 

I took it from the back of the linen press, where 
I had put it when the mistress told me to get it 
out of her sight. 

“I didn’t know she’d told her that!” Pat put in. 
“She didn’t say a word about it, back there. Well, 
never mind.” 

I brought it out , rolled in tissue paper as it was , 
and put it into Mistress Julias hand. I know 
not if it be the one desired. I doubt the poor lady's 
mind is wandering. The end is not far. 

It was not far indeed, for an entry three days 
later, the day of Mr. Edward’s arrival, recorded 
her death. There was no further mention of the 
tapestry. On the night she had asked for it, the' 
old lady had fallen into unconsciousness, passing 
gradually and painlessly into the deeper sleep 
from which she was to waken no more. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 157 

“Do you think this means anything?” Anne 
asked doubtfully, when they had satisfied them¬ 
selves that the tapestry was not mentioned in any 
later entry. “I mean, is it going to be any help 
to us at all?” 

“That’s just what I’m asking myself. She 
wanted the tapestry when she was dying, and the 
reason for that seems to be plain enough. She 
knew Dona Ignacia meant her son to have it. 
Probably that was in the letter—she wasn’t sur¬ 
prised when Jeanie spoke of putting it in the 
nursery, you know, she was only angry. And 
she went straight to the frame when she came 
into the room. Oh, yes, I’m sure the poor girl 
put her request in that letter, whatever else she 
may have said.” 

“But she never gave it to him. She had Jeanie 
hide it away,” Anne supplied. “And then, at 
the very last, she was sorry, and wanted him to 
have it. I think she must have been sorry for a 
good many things by then, Pat.” 

“I suppose so. Poor old soul,” Patricia said 
reluctantly. “Dying alone, without the grandson 
she loved, and with her conscience burdened with 
what she’d done to Dona Ignacia—yes, I sup¬ 
pose she tried to do what she could to make 



158 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

things right. I—I guess I’ve been a little too hard 
on her, Sis. She made mistakes, but who doesn t? 
And she meant well, you have to give her that. 

“I think I mentioned something of the sort 
once or twice before/’ Anne said gently. 

“I think you did!” Pat flashed her a rueful 
smile. “Well, anyway, to get back to our mut¬ 
tons. She gave the tapestry to Cousin Julia. To 
give to Edward when he came home, of course. 
You’ll agree that must have been what she 
wanted? All right, then. Where is the tapestry V’ 

“Goodness, I don’t know, darling. Somewhere 
about, I suppose. How about the room across 
the hall, the one Doctor Dick’s father used as his 
study? That seems the most likely place. Or 
maybe in his bedroom.” 

Pat sprang up. “What are we waiting for? 
Come on!” 

It was a couple of hours later that the two girls 
returned to their room. Nowhere in the house 
was there a piece of needle-point tapestry such as 
Jeanie had described. Not hanging upon any 
wall, not stored in any linen press or attic trunk. 
They might have spared themselves the search, 
for Ellen had told them positively that the house 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 159 

contained no such object, nor had she ever heard 
her aunt speak of it. No, nor Mr. Edward. There 
were four pairs of tapestry draperies for the 
dining-room windows, there were needle-point 
chair-backs in the drawing-room, there was a 
wool embroidered footstool which had belonged 
to Doctor Dick’s mother. None of these could 
conceivably have been made from the square ot 
fabric for which they were searching. 

“There’s only one thing I can think,” Pat said, 
as she cast herself dejectedly upon the window- 
seat. “Cousin Julia never gave it to Doctor 
Dick’s father at all.” 

“But honey!” Anne protested. “The old lady’s 
dying request—why, she couldn’t have refused 
to grant it. I’m sure you’re wrong.” 

“All right, then, where is it? Doctor Dick’s 
father wouldn’t have destroyed it, would he? His 
only keepsake from the mother he never knew? 
And it wasn’t in any sort of use, it couldn’t wear 
out. If Doctor Dick’s mother had been a differ¬ 
ent type, she might have thought it was too old- 
fashioned, and thrown it away. But she didn’t 
change anything here. There are plenty of old- 
fashioned things some wives would have gotten 
rid of. She didn’t, so why should she have done 


160 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

away with the tapestry? No, he never had it. 
I’m sure he didn’t. Maybe Cousin Julia liked it, 
and kept it for herself.” 

“She wouldn’t do that, dear! Unless—of 
course, Mrs. Ephraim might have given it to her. 
For herself, I mean, instead of for her grandson.” 

“Why?” Pat asked simply. 

Anne threw out her hands. “I don’t know. 
I’ll admit I can’t think of any reason why she 
should. The only reason for bringing it out at 
all would be to comply with Dona Ignacia’s wish, 
I should think. It’s all a mystery to me.” 

“And to me. But Anne, at least we’ve found 
a ray of light. We know that Ignacia did want 
her child to have the thing, that she was almost 
foolishly insistent on that point. And we know, 
or at least we can guess, that at the end Mrs. 
Ephraim wanted him to have it. Well, there 
must have been some reason for all this. Say 
that the old madam’s reason was just a guilty 
conscience. Then what was Dona Ignacia’s rea¬ 
son? The piece of needlework wasn’t something 
from her old home, something that she loved for 
sentimental reasons, and wanted to pass on to 
her son. She made it herself, here in this house, 
worked over it through all her days and nights of 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 161 

unhappiness. She meant it for him all the time. 
She told Jeanie that long before it was done. I 
want to know why! And if you can’t tell me that, 
then I want the next best thing. I want to see 
that square of tapestry myself. I want to see if 
I can’t figure out why she was so desperately 
anxious for her baby to have it.” 

“Well, I certainly can’t tell you why.” Anne 
laughed a little at her sister’s intensity. “And 
anxious though I am to help, I can’t show you the 
tapestry either. So I don’t see what I can do.’ 

“Don’t you?” Pat fixed her with a direct 
glance. “Then I’ll tell you, Sis. My knees knock 
together and my teeth begin to chatter at the very 
thought, but there’s only one thing to do, and 
you’ve simply got to help me. You promised, 
Anne! You will—oh, do say you will!” 

“Don’t get so excited, honey! I told you I’d 
do anything I could. What do you want me to 
do?” 

“To come with me.” Pat gulped. “I’m shak¬ 
ing like a leaf, just thinking about it. I’d rather 
—oh, a thousand times rather!—stick my head 
in a lion’s mouth. But there isn’t any other way. 
Sis, we’re going to Cousin Julia and ask her 
what she did with the tapestry.” 




IX 


To Pat’s surprise, Anne had received her sug¬ 
gestion quite calmly, remarking only that they 
owed Cousin Julia a call anyway. She did warn 
her sister that they must be very tactful in mak¬ 
ing their inquiries, and Pat thankfully agreed 
to leave the task in Anne’s more capable hands. 

The next afternoon, carefully dressed in their 
very best, the girls set off down the street for 
the Kinnott mansion. 

An elderly maid received them. She showed 

162 














MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 163 

them into a drawing-room somewhat smaller 
than the one at Four Chimneys, but similarly 
furnished. There the girls waited uneasily until 
the maid returned to say that her mistress was 
in, and would be down in a few minutes. 

Patricia glanced casually about the spacious, 
stately room, and then suddenly caught her 
breath. Her fingers sank into Anne’s arm. 

“Sis! Look, hanging over the mantel there. Is 
it—oh, do you think that could be it?” 

Anne followed her glance. With a gilded rod 
at top and bottom, hung by a tasseled silk cord, 
was a piece of needlepoint tapestry about a yard 
square. Its brilliant colors glowed above the snow- 
white marble of the carved fireplace with an 
effect of sunlight in the dusky room. 

“Oh, how beautiful!” Anne exclaimed. “It 
looks like an oil painting.” 

The picture, worked in such tiny stitches that 
they were invisible at this distance, was divided 
diagonally by a thin gold line. The lower left- 
hand corner, in dark grays and browns, showed 
the figure of a young man standing in a stone¬ 
walled cell, dim with shadow. His face was 
turned upward, toward where, in the opposite 
corner, an entirely different scene appeared. 


164 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 


Here was a garden, bright with sun-drenched 
flowers and trees; a bluebird perched upon a 
bough; butterflies hovered about a trellis of 
climbing roses. And walking on the emerald- 
green grass was a lady, her smiling face turned 
toward the young man of the lower picture. 

“I’ve never seen anything so lovely,” Anne 
went on. “What do you suppose it represents? A 
religious picture, maybe? The poor mortal in 
prison, being cheered by a vision of paradise?” 

“Who cares?” Pat asked impatiently. “Anne, 
you don’t seem to understand. I’m asking you 
if that’s it —Dona Ignacia’s tapestry. The one 
we’ve come to ask Cousin Julia about. It’s the 
right size, and there’s a sort of Spanish look about 
it, though I can’t tell why.” 

“I can. It’s the lady’s clothes; she’s wearing 
a high comb and mantilla,” Anne explained. 
“But—why, yes, it could be. It could very well 
be.” 

“Then she did keep it for herself! Oh, what a 
mean, horrid thing to do! It’s beautiful enough 
to make anybody want it, but it wasn’t given to 
her! It was for Doctor Dick’s father, and I do 
think—” 


“Darling, hush1” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 165 

There was a rustle outside the door, and their 
hostess entered. 

Although it was a sweltering mid-summer day, 
Mrs. Kinnott was dressed, as they had seen her 
before, in stiff black taffeta, high-necked and 
long-sleeved. She greeted them with stately 
courtesy. Anne was relieved to learn that she 
had just returned from several weeks in Boston, 
so their tardiness in returning her call could 
not be charged against them. 

Pat sat by in meek silence while her sister made 
conversation. Anne had a girlish dignity of her 
own, softened now by a pretty deference to the 
older woman. The questions she asked about 
Boston were quite sincere, and so was her interest 
in Cousin Julia’s answers. But to Pat there was 
something miraculous in the way those questions 
and answers melted the ice of their hostess’s 
manner. This was what Anne called “tact,” she 
supposed. For the hundredth time Pat despaired 
of ever learning the technique of it. She would 
certainly have put her foot in it long before 
this if she’d been alone, she reflected now. Her 
glance strayed toward the glowing tapestry. 
When, oh when, would Anne get around to the 
real purpose of their visit? 


166 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

She came to it by degrees, and very cleverly. 
First she admired a portrait, on the wall behind 
Cousin Julia, of a stern-faced old gentleman 
frowning over his high winged collar. That was 
dear Papa, Cousin Julia told her, painted at 
Paris at the time of the 1900 Exposition. Hear 
Papa had been American commissioner to the 
Exposition, and had brought home many lovely 
things. The collection of miniatures in the cabi¬ 
net there, for instance. And the pair of Sevres 
vases on the mantelpiece. 

With a glance at Patricia, Anne sprang up to 
admire the Sevres vases at closer range. And 
after that— 

“What a lovely piece of tapestry, Mrs. Kin- 
nott! Is it an heirloom too?” 

Patricia held her breath while Cousin Julia 
nodded complacently. 

“That belonged to my father’s aunt, Mrs. 
Ephraim Driscoll. A very great lady, of whom 
you may have heard.” 

Then, to Pat’s dismay, she embarked upon a 
detailed account of Mrs. Ephraim’s career. Her 
Abolitionist activities were touched upon, the 
Sanitary Fair, her share in urging the building 
of Brooklyn Bridge, her old age divided between 







MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 167 


the suffrage movement and the temperance cru¬ 
sade. 

Anne, who at first had lingered hopefully be¬ 
fore the tapestry, was obliged to return to her 
chair, listening with a convincing air of attention. 

Pat’s patience, already strained to the break¬ 
ing point, threatened to snap at any minute. She 
looked imploringly at Anne, but the measured 
tones flowed steadily on over both their heads. 

Finally she could endure it no longer. In a 
voice that by contrast sounded loud and rough, 
Pat broke out, “We’ve already heard about her, 
Mrs. Kinnott. What we’re interested in is the 
tapestry.” 

“Indeed?” Icicles dripped from the word, as 
Cousin Julia turned her face toward her. “May 
I ask the reason for your interest in my aunt’s 
gift to me?” 

“My sister loves beautiful needlework, Mrs. 
Kinnott,” Anne put in swiftly. “And we were 
admiring the tapestry before you came down. 
Mrs. Ephraim Driscoll must have had wonder¬ 
ful taste. Four Chimneys is just crammed with 
her lovely things.” 

“She was famous for her good taste.” Some¬ 
what mollified, Cousin Julia turned back to 


168 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Anne. “It is largely to her work on the pur¬ 
chasing committee that the Brooklyn Museum 
owes its exceptionally fine art collection. Many 
of them were her personal gifts, for she was very 
generous. To her friends also—she gave me some 
of my most valued treasures. The tapestry was 
her last gift to me.” 

Pat had been wriggling uneasily during this 
speech. Anne’s tact was accomplishing nothing 
whatever as far as their purpose was concerned. 
What good was all this chatter? Pat had come 
here to find out something, and she was being put 
off with words. Not even true words, either, for 
didn’t she know— 

Impetuously, before her sister could stop her, 
she spoke. “It’s no use telling us she gave it to 
you, Mrs. Kinnott. We know better than that.” 

Horrified, Anne tried to stammer something, 
but Cousin Julia waved her to silence. An 
angry flush rose to her thin cheeks. Majestically 
she adjusted her lorgnette and surveyed Pat in 
crushing silence. Then she said glacially, “I am 
not accustomed to being spoken to in such a 
manner. I await your apology.” 

Pat swallowed. “I apologize. I didn’t mean 
to be rude, Mrs. Kinnott. But you said Mrs. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 169 

Ephraim gave you the tapestry—you kept on 
saying it! And we know she didn’t. We know 
Dona Ignacia made it for her baby, and left it 
for him. His grandmother kept it from him all 
those years, but when she came to die she was 
sorry, and she tried to make amends. Edward 
was in Paris—she couldn’t give it to him. She 
asked you on her death-bed to do it for her. She 
had Jeanie get the tapestry and bring it to you. 
That’s why we came here,” she rushed on. “We 
couldn’t find it any place in the house, and we 
thought you must know something about it. But 
we never seriously thought that you’d kept it 
for yourself! That was a mean, selfish thing to 
do, and if I were in your place I’d be so 
ashamed—” 

She had no choice but to stop then, for Anne 
had put both hands firmly over her mouth. The 
older girl was scarlet with mortification. She 
could scarcely raise her eyes to the regal figure 
in the chair opposite. 

Julia Driscoll Kinnott sat as though turned to 
stone, her eyes fixed on a point far over the girls’ 
heads—upon the tapestry, Anne thought, though 
she dared not turn to see. The flush which Pat’s 
first outburst had called up drained slowly away, 





170 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

leaving a deathly whiteness. When she spoke it 
was through scarcely moving lips. 

“The persons you name are long dead. What 
can you know of them, child?” 

Pat opened her mouth, faltered, and turned 
helplessly to Anne. “You tell her, Sis. I guess 
I’ve said too much already. You’ll have to do 
it, Anne. I can’t!” 

As calmly as she could, Anne told of their in¬ 
terest in Dona Ignacia, and of their study of 
Jeanie’s diary. In justice to Pat, she emphasized 
the fact that the tapestry had undoubtedly been 
intended for baby Edward, and gave their rea¬ 
sons for believing that Mrs. Ephraim had tried 
to carry out the trust. 

“Of course, that was only what we thought,” 
she went on distressedly. “I can see now that 
we were wrong. Mrs. Ephraim was in the habit 
of giving you pretty things, and she thought you’d 
like the tapestry as a last gift. We’re to blame 
for jumping at conclusions, and I’m so sorry 
we’ve upset you. It was unpardonable of my 
sister to speak as she did.” 

“No matter.” The old lady—and for the first 
time the girls realized that she was a very old 
lady—brought her eyes back to the two girls. 
There was bewilderment in them, and pain. She 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 171 

sighed deeply, and leaned back in her chair as 
though suddenly tired. 

“This has been a shock to me,” she said feebly. 
“No, children, I am not blaming you. If your 
extraordinary story is true—but I know that it 
is true—it explains something—something—” 
her voice quavered almost into silence. Then, 
with a visible effort, she pulled herself together. 
Turning to Pat, she said simply and directly, 
“I did not wilfully withhold the tapestry from its 
rightful owner, child. Nor did I knowingly break 
a promise to the dead. Until this minute, I have 
believed that my aunt gave it to me, as she gave 
me so many beautiful things in her lifetime. Will 
you accept my word for that?” 

Pat squirmed miserably. “Of course, Mrs. 
Kinnott. As Sis says, we jumped at conclusions. 
Or I did, for it’s all my fault. I hope you won’t 
blame her.” 

“There is no question of blame, my child. I 
simply want to clear the matter up. And to do 
that, I am asking you both to listen while I tell 
you exactly what occurred in my aunt’s sick¬ 
room.” 

She hesitated, gathering her thoughts. Pat 
clutched tightly at her sister’s hand. 

“On the day of which Jeanie wrote,” Mrs. Kin- 



172 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

nott began slowly, “my aunt was sinking rapidly. 
Her mind was clear, but she was pitifully weak. 
All during her illness she had called for Ed¬ 
ward, who was hurrying home from Paris. On 
this day she asked for him again, and I told her 
as confidently as I could that he would soon be 
here. The assurance did not comfort her as it had 
done before. She shook her head, while the tears 
rolled slowly down her cheeks. Then, with an 
access of strength which surprised me, she said 
clearly, Tt will be too late. I cannot wait. You 
must do it for me, Julia. Tell Jeanie to give you 
the tapestry.’ 

“Jeanie brought it, as you know. When I went 
back to the sick-room with it—” the old voice 
broke a little. “She had exhausted her waning 
strength in that last effort. I laid the rolled-up 
bundle on the bed, and put her hands over it. 
She pushed it toward me, and she tried her best 
to speak. I leaned over her, straining my ears, 
but it was useless. Her voice was only a whisper, 
a painful, urgent whisper of which I could catch 
no word. I did as we all do with people who are 
very ill. I nodded as though I understood, and 
tried to soothe her. She seemed satisfied. She 
smiled, and closed her eyes. That was the last 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 173 

time she ever spoke, although we think she recog¬ 
nized Edward when he arrived just before the 
end. It has distressed me all these years that I 
never knew what it was she tried to tell me.” 

“Edward did come in time to see her?” Anne 
asked. “Oh, I’m glad of that. But of course 
she was too weak to tell him about the tapestry 
then.” 

“She was conscious for only a few seconds. 
Afterwards, I did remember that she had spoken 
of him just before asking for the tapestry. I 
showed it to him, and asked him whether it had 
any significance for him. It had none. He had 
never seen it, or heard of it. He urged me to keep 
it, saying that that was plainly her wish—he knew 
how often she had bought some lovely thing for 
me. I should have questioned Jeanie. I see that 
now. But I never thought—you must remember 
that I knew almost nothing of this extraordinary 
story about Captain Jack’s wife. And Jeanie was 
too much the well-trained servant to volunteer 
any information.” 

“You didn’t know about Dona Ignacia?” Pat 
asked. 

“Only the barest facts. That Captain Jack had 
made an unsuitable marriage, and that after his 



174 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

death his young widow had left Four Chimneys. 
I had an impression that she was European, 
but I don’t know now what made me think so. I 
never heard her Christian name until today. The 
affair happened years before I was born, and we 
were abroad during my early years. Dear Papa 
was in the diplomatic service. When I returned 
to Brooklyn Heights as a young lady, it was an 
old story, long since hushed up and forgotten. 
Many of our fine old families have painful chap¬ 
ters into which it is not good manners to pry.” 
The old voice trailed off wearily, and Pat thought 
with a pang how aged and frail the formidable 
Cousin Julia looked, now that she had cast aside 
her armor. 

Mrs. Kinnott met her eyes with a wan smile. 
“I’ll have Clorinda take the tapestry down and 
wrap it up for you, child. It must go back to 
Four Chimneys, of course. There can be no ques¬ 
tion about its ownership now. It belongs to Rich¬ 
ard, as Edward’s heir. Perhaps you will write 
and explain it all to him? Tell him I feel my¬ 
self much to blame. I failed to fulfill my aunt’s 
trust. I am bitterly ashamed, and I can only 
hope that he will forgive me. I shall never for¬ 
give myself.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 175 

Then Pat did an impulsive thing. Her own 
eyes swimming in tears, she jumped up and 
threw her arms around Mrs. Kinnott’s neck. 
“I’ll tell you what we’ll write Doctor Dick, 
Cousin Julia. We ll tell him we think you’re 
swellr 



X 

“Hebe it is at last!” Pat bounded up the stairs 
two steps at a time, and burst into their room. 
“Doctor Dick’s letter, and I must say he’s taken 
his time about it. It’s nearly a month since we 
wrote him—I thought we’d have an answer by 
return mail.” 

She threw herself upon the window seat by 
Anne, who quickly closed her book and leaned 
to look at the letter Pat was unfolding. 

176 









MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 177 

My dear girls, Doctor Dick wrote. So you’ve 
stumbled across the legend of my Spanish grand¬ 
mother? You seem to know a great deal more 
about her than I do. All my father ever told me 
was that she was Spanish, and that she died when 
he was a baby. I never heard that there was any 
mystery about her death, or “disappearance,” as 
you put it. Are you sure someone hasn’t been 
“spoofing you,” as they say over here? I can’t re¬ 
call Ellen’s ever having mentioned her. But then, 
being a boy, I wouldn’t have hounded her for 
romantic details as you seem to have done. The 
only family legend that really impressed me was 
the one about the Smugglers’ Way—have you 
had a try at that? Dougal and I wasted hours 
over it when I was small. Get him to tell you 
about it. It’s nice that the old house provides 
some interest during what might have been rather 
a dull summer for you. 

I’m sorry poor old Cousin Julia was upset 
about the bit of fancy-work. It doesn’t mean 
anything to me, and wouldn’t have to my father, 
so tell her not to give it another thought. Would 
you girls like the thing for your room? If so, 
keep it with my best wishes. 

Your mother is well, and will write soon. We’re 
invited to a garden party tomorrow, and — 



178 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

There were a few lines more, but Pat laid the 
letter down with a queer feeling of flatness. 

“He—well, he just doesn’t think it’s impor¬ 
tant!” she said. “And I thought he’d be as ex¬ 
cited as we were! Why, he doesn’t even care 
about the tapestry. He says we can have it. I 
never thought he’d take it like that, did you, 
Anne?” 

“Don’t look so tragic, honey!” Anne laughed. 
“Although she was his own grandmother, Dona 
Ignacia isn’t real to Doctor Dick, as she’s come 
to be to us. He never saw her trunk full of pretty 
clothes, nor read Jeanie’s diary. I can under¬ 
stand why Ellen never told him anything. Her 
aunt was still living when Doctor Dick was a 
little boy, and Ellen was too much in awe of her 
to talk as freely as she does now.” 

“Yes, that’s true, of course. She’d never have 
told us as much as she did if we hadn’t simply 
pried it out of her. But I can’t get over this sort 
of let-down feeling after Doctor Dick’s letter. 
It makes me feel that we’ve been making a ter¬ 
rible fuss over nothing, and I hate to feel that 
way!” 

Pat squirmed about and pressed her face dis- 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 179 

contentedly against the windowpane. It was a 
day of gray slanting rain. Heavy clouds hung 
low, blotting out the harbor view they loved. Be¬ 
low their window Dougal’s flowers drooped dis¬ 
consolately. 

Anne picked up her book again. “It was nice 
of him to give us the tapestry,” she remarked. 
“Especially as we already have it.” She glanced 
to where the colorful square hung between the 
two windows. 

“Well, Cousin Julia said it must come back 
to the house, and you agreed yourself that it might 
as well hang in this room as any other. I like it. 
I like to wake when it’s too early to get up, and 
lie and study it. When I’m half-asleep I can 
imagine myself into the picture, walking in the 
garden, picking the flowers. Like we used to do 
with that snow scene we had at home. Remem¬ 
ber?” 

“I remember. Those cottages with the lamp¬ 
light shining out—I’ve spent hours imagining 
to myself what they must be like inside. I think 
all children do that with pictures, if they’re the 
right kind. Mums told me once she used to do 
it, and that’s why she picked landscapes for 


180 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

our room instead of animals or flowers. So I’m 
afraid you can’t claim much originality there, 
kiddie.” 

“Oh, I’m not trying to. This is a good pic¬ 
ture to do it with, though, all the details are so 
clear and distinct. And speaking of Mums, dar¬ 
ling,” Pat’s face brightened, “do you realize 
that in less than five weeks we’ll be seeing her? 
I don’t know where this summer’s gone, but the 
first thing we know it’ll be over. She and Doctor 
Dick will be coming back, and we’ll be on our 
way home again.” 

“I know,” Anne smiled. “When I think about 
seeing Mother, I don’t know how I can wait five 
weeks. Her letters are awfully skimpy—I want 
to know all about London, the places she’s been 
and the people she’s met. I always heard the 
English were cold and reserved, but she seems 
to have made an incredible number of friends 
among them. You can tell she’s having a won¬ 
derful time.” 

“Well, bless her, she deserves it, if anyone 
ever did,” Pat answered warmly. “After all her 
struggles and hard work—oh, I’m so glad Doctor 
Dick had this idea of marrying her. I do think 
it was the brightest thing he ever thought of!” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 181 

“That seems to be his impression too,” Anne 
laughed. “Yes, it’s worked out beautifully, as of 
course I knew it would. They were simply made 
for each other. The nicest thing about it, to me, 
is that Mother can be at home, where she belongs. 
Just think, there’ll be no more office for her 
ever again. No more dashing off on cold winter 
mornings, no more hurrying home to scramble 
dinner on the table. She’ll be there, when we come 
in from school, waiting to hear every little thing 
that’s happened to us—” 

“And waiting with a plate of doughnuts, I 
hope and trust,” Pat said earnestly. “Well, 
maybe not doughnuts every day. I suppose I 
could get tired of that, though it seems very un¬ 
likely. But something good. All the little extras 
she never had time to make for us. I suppose that 
sounds selfish, but she loves doing it—and be¬ 
sides, I never saw Mums pass up a doughnut her¬ 
self. Oh, she’s going to be lots happier this way, 
and so are we. I can’t help feeling that Doctor 
Dick did us rather a favor when he decided to 
marry into our family.” 

“Well, he didn’t do himself any harm either,” 
Anne pointed out. “Instead of that dreary board¬ 
ing-house, he’ll have a real home, where his 



182 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

comfort is considered, and—oh, it’s going to be 
splendid for everybody. The only thing is, I wish 
he didn’t have to go back to general practice. 
If he could just have his clinic for crippled chil¬ 
dren, the thing he’s set his heart on, everything 
would be perfect. But I suppose there’s no use 
hoping for that. It would cost a fortune, be¬ 
cause the treatments would have to be free. Or 
else the very low fees that poor parents can pay, 
people like the Fiorellis. He’d have to have his 
own hospital and nurses, and it could never be 
self-supporting. If he could only find some gen¬ 
erous millionaire to endow it for him!” 

“Oh, he’ll do that one of these days,” Pat 
said cheerfully. “When the word gets around 
that he’s been working with the great Sir James 
all summer, people who never thought of calling 
him before will decide that he’s the doctor for 
them. And maybe one of them will be your mil¬ 
lionaire. Doctor Dick saves his life, and in grati¬ 
tude Old Moneybags will found his clinic for 
him. That’s the way it happens in the movies.” 

“That sounds nice. I wish I could believe it 
would come true.” Anne sighed, and changed 
the subject. “Shall you be glad to go home 
again, honey?” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 183 

“Oh, yes, in lots of ways. I’m dying to see the 
girls, and tell them all about New York. I shan’t 
even mind school, there’ll be so much to talk 
about. Not that I’m getting tired of Four Chim¬ 
neys, mind. I’m having a lovely time here. I 
adore Dougal and Ellen, and Smoky. I like 
Cousin Julia, too, now that I’ve really got to know 
her. Do you know she’s planning to give a tea for 
Mother as soon as she lands? She was telling 
me about it yesterday, while you were in her 
garden with old Mrs. Mount joy. Which reminds 
me, I forgot to ask what you and Mrs. M. were 
giggling over while you were cutting flowers out 
there? I must say you seem to have carved out 
quite a niche for yourself in Cousin Julia’s ex¬ 
clusive circle.” 

“Well, so have you! You’re always running 
over to New York to match knitting wools for 
some of Cousin Julia’s pals. Mrs. Mount joy was 
telling me some of her little grandson’s bright 
sayings, and very funny they were, too. But she 
also told me what a perfect little lady my sister 
was. Maybe that’s when you heard me giggling.” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised. Really, though, 
Sis,” Pat said seriously, “They’re nice, all these 
stately old ladies we’ve met at Cousin Julia’s 


184 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

house. Oh, they’re terrifying at first, just as 
she was. But that’s only their manner, the Brook¬ 
lyn Heights manner, I call it. Underneath they’re 
—why, they’re as human as we are. It makes 
me wonder if even the old madam herself mightn’t 
have had her human side, if Dona Ignacia had 
known enough to look for it.” 

“You’ve thought of that?” Anne asked, inter¬ 
ested. “It’s funny, but that very same thing has 
struck me more than once. I could name half 
a dozen old ladies, starting with Cousin Julia 
herself, who must be very like the late Mrs. 
Ephraim. And I think, I really think, that an 
American girl could have learned to get on with 
her just as we’ve learned to get on with them. 
It was Dona Ignacia’s misfortune that she wasn’t 
an American girl. Instead of trying to adapt 
herself, as we do, she was just as narrow and 
stiff-necked as they were. Her way was right, and 
any other way was wrong. No, of course I’m not 
blaming her, for that was the common fault of 
her people. It’s why the old Spanish aristocracy 
died out so quickly when the Americans moved 
in. Even with all that fertile land, they were 
never good farmers, and they had absolutely no 
heads for business as Americans understand it. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 185 

They never really understood self-government, or 
believed in it. They were ignorant and prejudiced 
and blindly obstinate, and-—” 

“Why, Anne!” Pat interrupted. “Are you 
talking about your old friends, the Spanish had - 
endados? I can’t believe it! For years you’ve 
been telling me how wonderful they were.” 

“But they were wonderful!” Anne laughed. 
“They were brave, they were loyal, they were fan¬ 
tastically hospitable—all of the things I’ve ever 
told you. I don’t take back any of them. To me 
they were the most picturesque, glamorous people 
that ever lived on this continent. I’d rather 
read about the days of their glory than about 
any other period. But—oh, don’t you see? Their 
period came to an end, as all periods must. Really 
it had ended long before, but they were living 
in a little cut-off world of their own. When the 
Americans came they brought the modern world 
with them, and the hidalgos weren’t suited to it, 
and couldn’t survive in it. And the reason they 
weren’t, and couldn’t, was because they simply 
refused to adapt themselves to new T conditions.” 
She drew a long breath. “That was the cause of 
poor little Dona Ignacia’s troubles,” she fin¬ 
ished. 





186 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“I don’t see that you’ve proved that exactly, 
Pat objected. “You wouldn’t call Mrs. Ephraim 
a breath of the modern world, would you? In 
her own way it seems to me she was about as 

rigid as the Spaniards.” 

“I know. And of course that made it harder. 
There should have been some adapting on both 
sides, and I’m afraid Dona Ignacia would have 
been called upon to do most of it. But it wouldn t 
have hurt her to do some. I’m sure that you and 
I do more adapting to Cousin Julia and her 
friends than they do to us, and we certainly 
haven’t suffered from it. And we haven’t any¬ 
thing to gain from it, as she had.” 

“Oh, I’ll agree with you that she didn’t use 
her head,” Pat answered. “At first I was heart 
and soul on her side, and to me the old madam 
was simply a dragon that some knight should 
have slain. But the more I find out about the 
whole business the more I see that there were 
faults on both sides. Do you remember I told 
you once Dona Ignacia was real to me, that I 
felt as if I knew her? Well, now, thanks to 
Cousin Julia and her set, I begin to feel that I 
know the old madam too. And what I’d really 
like to do, Anne, is to get both of them together, 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 187 

here in this room, and talk sense to them.” 

Anne laughed, but there was understanding in 
her glance. “I know, honey. That’s how I feel, 
too. Isn’t it odd to think that two months ago 
we’d never heard of these people? And now— 
why, they might be our next door neighbors.” 

“Yes, that’s it exactly,” Pat agreed. “I’ll 
feel that I’m deserting them when I go back 
to Middletown. I don’t mind about the old 
madam—she probably wouldn’t miss me much. 
But little Dona Ignacia, I am deserting her, Sis. 
For I promised myself solemnly I’d find out 
what happened to her, and I’ve failed completely. 
In spite of all our talk, we haven’t done anything. 
The mystery’s as deep as it ever was. Where did 
she go? How did she go? If I have to leave 
here in five weeks and never know the answer 
to those questions—oh, you don’t know how I’ll 
hate it, Sis! It makes me simply furious to have 
to give up.” 

“There’s no use feeling that way, Pat. I’m 
disappointed too. But what more can we do? We 
did find the tapestry, you know.” 

“Yes, and what good did it do?” Patricia’s 
eyes wandered to the brilliant square of fabric. 
“It didn’t tell us a thing. I was so excited that 




188 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

day we brought it home. I was sure we’d found 
the clue to the whole mystery. I still think we 
have. I think the answers are there, in that piece 
of cloth, if we only had brains enough to read 
them.” 

“Well, if they are, they’re quite beyond the 
capacity of my brain,” Anne said ruefully. “It’s 
a beautiful piece of needlework. Dona Ignacia 
wanted her baby to have it. He never got it. 
That’s the sum and substance of what I get out 
of it.” 

“Me too. And yet—” Pat got up and came to 
stand, scowling, before the picture. “There’s 
more than that, there must be. Listen, Anne,” 
she went on earnestly. “We’ve said all along 
that there must have been some reason for her 
wanting the baby to have it. Besides just for a 
keepsake, I mean. Haven’t we?” 

“You have, darling. I only said it was an odd 
choice for a keepsake. I never said it couldn’t 
be one.” 

“Oh, Anne! Are you going to be helpful, or 
aren’t you?” 

“Sorry, pet.” Anne smiled at the frowning 
face. “If it helps any, I’ll agree there must have 
been another reason. But if you’re going to ask 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 189 

me what it was, you might just as well save your 
breath to cool your porridge, as Ellen says. For 
I haven’t the ghost of an idea.” 

‘All right, Sis.” Pat left the picture and re¬ 
turned to the window seat, her face toward the 
gray murk outside. “Do you mind going on with 
your book, and not talking to me right now? 
I’m going to concentrate like mad. If I can once 
figure out that reason—if I only can!—then I’ll 
know everything. If I can’t—well, then I’ll give 
it all up for good. So keep your fingers crossed 
for me, darling. And don’t even breathe at me 
while I’m trying to figure it out!” 

i 

It was very quiet in the girls’ room. The rain 
beat against the windows, the wood fire, which 
Dougal had kindled “to ward off the damp,” 
snapped and flickered cozily. Anne had taken 
her book to a deep armchair beside the fireplace. 
It was rather a dull book, and she looked up with 
relief when Smoky stalked into the room and 
jumped into her lap. Anne closed the book and 
sat gently stroking the soft fur, glancing now 
and then to where her sister, curled in the window 
seat, stared unseeingly out toward the water. 
Pat really must be “concentrating” in earnest, 



190 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Anne reflected, for she had not even turned her 
head at Smoky’s entrance. Ellen’s cat was a 
favorite of the girls, and the polite little mew 
with which she announced her presence seldom 
went unheard by Pat. 

The process of deep thought, Anne observed, 
was not a very becoming one. Pat’s face twisted 
into curious shapes. Now and then her lips 
moved, or she shook her head impatiently. At 
last, watching, Anne saw a startled look come 
over her little sister’s face. Then the whole ex¬ 
pression changed. Anne was relieved, but not 
surprised, when, after a few minutes of intense 
pondering, Pat got up and came toward her, an¬ 
nouncing soberly, “Sis, I’ve done it.” 

“That’s fine, honey. Sit down on this stool 
here and tell me all about it.” 

“Hello, Smoky. Where did you come from?” 
Pat took the stool at her sister’s feet, and shifted 
the willing cat into her own lap. “I think I have 
it, Sis, I really do. But I want you to listen and 
tell me what you think.” 

“I’m waiting, Pat.” 

“I started this way,” Patricia began. “I tried 
to put myself into Dona Ignacia’s place. You 
know, to try to feel as she felt and think as she 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 191 

thought. I said to myself, I am Dona Ignacia. 
I ve been terribly unhappy in this house, and now 
I in going away. Maybe my mother-in-law is 
sending me, or maybe I’m going of my own free 
will. The point is that I’m going, and I’m 
leaving my baby behind me. I’ve known I was 
going for months now, so—” 

“Wait a minute, dear,” Anne interrupted. 

Did she know it for months? WTiat makes you 
think that?” 

“Because of the tapestry, Sis. It must have 
taken months to make. And if she was making it 
for a special purpose she must have known when 
she began it.” 

“I see. You’re leaving out the keepsake the¬ 
ory entirely, then? You don’t think at the last 
minute she decided to leave him something, and 
happened to choose the tapestry?” 

“I’m not even considering that,” Pat said. “It 
could have happened, of course. But if it did— 
well, that’s just a blind alley. That’s all there 
was to it, and there’s no earthly chance of finding 
out anything more. So I’m just putting that 
aside, and assuming that she made the tapestry for 
the special purpose of leaving it to her son. Don’t 
you think I can do that?” 



192 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“Of course you can,” Anne encouraged her. 
“You have to have something to start with, and 
it might as well be that. Like a geometry proposi¬ 
tion, where you’re given something 'by hypothe¬ 
sis,’ and—” 

“I wouldn’t know about that,” Pat said hastily. 
“Do you want to hear this, darling, or do you 
want to discuss higher mathematics? Maybe 
you’ve forgotten that I’m still struggling with 
first year algebra, but—” 

“Don’t be cross, honey. Of course I want to 
hear. You’re Dona Ignacia, and you know 
you’re going away. So you spend months em¬ 
broidering a tapestry square to leave for your 
baby son. You must have had something in 
mind, as the radio announcers say. All right. 
What is it?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that. 
When I curled up in that window seat, I hadn’t 
the foggiest idea of the answer. But now—” Pat 
paused impressively. “Here it is, Anne. The 
tapestry is a message to her little boy!” 

Anne looked somewhat bewildered. “What 
kind of a message, Pat? What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know what kind, yet! But listen, Sis. 
See how reasonable it is. Say she wanted very 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 193 

much to tell him something, before she went 
away. He was only a baby, she couldn’t talk 
to him then. And if she left him a letter to read 
when he was old enough, she knew perfectly 
well he’d never get it. The old madam would see 
to that. But a really beautiful piece of em¬ 
broidery to hang in his room—she’d not count 
on the old lady’s being vindictive enough to 
suppress that, I suppose. She was, though—I 
find it terribly hard to forgive her for that!” 

Never mind about her,” Anne answered. 

Pat, I believe—I honestly do believe that you’ve 
got it at last. It makes me feel perfectly stupid 
that we didn’t think of it long before.” 

“It sounds like the right answer, then?” Pat 
asked anxiously. “Oh, Sis, I’m glad you think 
so! It seemed like it to me, but of course I 
couldn’t be sure.” 

“Well, we can’t be really sure until we’ve fig¬ 
ured out the message,” Anne said practically. 
“The thing to do now is to assume that there is 
one—another ‘hypothesis,’ but a perfectly rea¬ 
sonable one, and it ought to lead us to the truth.” 

As though moved by one impulse, the two girls 
got up and went over to the picture. They stood 
for a moment, examining it in perplexed silence. 





194 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“How about this?” Anne ventured. “We 
thought when we first saw it that it was a re¬ 
ligious picture. Suppose she s telling him that 
although they’re parted here, they 11 meet again 
in heaven, after they’re free of this earthly 

prison? Would that do?” 

“Oh, Anne, no!” Pat almost shrieked. “For— 
don’t you see what that would mean? It s only 
the young man who is in prison; the woman is 
already in paradise. And—and I didn t even 
let myself think about that, when I was pretend¬ 
ing to be Dona Ignacia. I won’t believe that she 
meant to drown herself, I simply won’t!” 

“I didn’t think of that,” Anne said quickly. 
“I’m sure she didn’t intend it either, honey; you 
know I told Ellen so. The Spanish Californians 
were extremely religious. She’d know that suicide 
was no right way out of her difficulties. So for¬ 
get what I just said. There must be some other 
meaning, if we can only find it. She frowned 
at the picture. “Oh, I’m sure I was wrong, now. 
This doesn’t look like a devout person’s concep¬ 
tion of heaven. There’d be angels somewhere 
about, wouldn’t there? And the lady hasn’t even 
a halo—she can’t be a saint. Dona Ignacia may 
have been rather childish, but I don’t think even 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 195 

she would have pictured a saint in paradise as 
wearing a comb and mantilla. It’s a picture of a 
living woman in an earthly garden, I’m sure of 
that now.” 

“I think so too. But if it isn’t what you thought, 
then what does it mean?” Pat bent closer to the 
tiny silken stitches. “Think, Anne! Lady in 
garden, man in prison—” 

“If he is in prison,” Anne interrupted. “Don’t 
look so startled, dear. We’re only supposing that 
that dark stone-walled room is a prison cell. It 
looks just as much like an ordinary cellar.” 

“But why— Anne!” Pat clutched her sister’s 
shoulder. “Darling, you’re a genius! It isn’t a 
prison at all, it is a cellar! Oh, are you wonder¬ 
ful!” 

“Well, thanks, but I’m only guessing, you 
know. What—” 

“But I’m not guessing!” Pat’s voice mounted 
excitedly. “Look, look down here. There’s the 
manhole cover over in the far corner, and there’s 
the rusty chain trailing on the floor. It’s ex¬ 
actly like—oh, it simply can’t be any place else. 
You saw it yourself, when Dougal took us down. 
Don’t you recognize it, Anne? It’s the cistern 
room in this very house!” 




196 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“But I still can’t see. Oh, it’s the cistern room, 
all right. See, she has every detail, even the iron 
ring where the chain is fastened to the wall. But 
—but what’s the sense of it?” Anne asked. 

“I don’t know, but I’m going to. This is, this 
really is the key we’ve been looking for, Sis! 
And it can’t be so impossible to figure out, can 
it? Because she meant him to guess, and he 
wouldn’t have as much to go on as we have, even. 
She’d have had to make it easy for him, I should 
think.” 

Excitedly at first, and then in growing dejec¬ 
tion, the two sisters scanned the picture. 

“She certainly didn’t make it easy for us ’’ Pat 
said at last. 

“There’s only one thing to do.” Anne tried 
to sound very encouraging. “We must look for 
something out of the way; the very slightest 
thing. They’re hard to find, I know. To think 
that it’s been hanging there for weeks, and we 
never noticed until now that the man’s figure is 
standing in our own cistern room! There must 
be something else like that. Something that we 
haven’t noticed, although it must be right under 
our eyes this minute.” 

“Such as what?” Pat asked wearily. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 197 

“I’ll tell you what let’s do. Let’s go over the 
whole thing inch by inch. You take the prison 
corner and I’ll take the other. And cheer up. If 
there’s anything here we’ll find it.” 

With infinite pains they set about the task. 
Anne brought a couple of envelopes. Shutting 
off with these all but a few square inches at a 
time, they moved slowly up the picture side by 
side, sharply scrutinizing every thread. 

When they reached the top Anne shook her 
head. 

“Nothing in the least extraordinary on my side. 
How about yours, dear?” 

“I only found one thing that seemed odd,” 
Pat answered. “And I don’t suppose it means 
anything. Look here, Sis. Do you see this big 
stone the young man is standing on? It’s worked 
in a different colored thread from the rest of 
the paving.” 

Anne followed her pointing finger. The stone- 
flagged cellar floor was faithfully copied; flat 
longish blocks worked out in brown-gray, their 
separating lines defined in dark brown. But the 
one directly under the young man’s feet was 
done in dull gold. Now that Anne’s attention was 
called to it it seemed to stand out quite distinctly, 


198 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

although she had looked at the picture a hundred 
times and never noticed it before. 

“Perhaps she ran out of the gray floss for that 
bit?” she offered. “Or she may have thought his 
feet wouldn’t show up against the gray. Or—” 

“Or a million things!” Pat flashed. “Any of 
them could be right, of course. But Anne, what 
about this? We know that she had something to 
say to him. Do you suppose—oh, it sounds so 
wildly improbable I feel silly saying it. But sup¬ 
pose she wanted him to notice that particular 
slab in the cellar? What if that is the message?” 

“But Pat, honey, that is silly! Why would 
she want him to do that?” 

“Goodness, I don’t know why!” Pat’s words 
fairly tumbled out. “Never mind why, just say 
she did. Then don’t you see how everything fits 
in? We were talking awhile ago about that trick 
children have of imagining themselves into a 
picture. You said all children do it—remember? 
Probably Dona Ignacia had done it herself, so 
she’d know about it. Well, she planned for the 
tapestry to hang in the nursery. Sooner or later, 
as he grew older, little Edward would begin 
playing that game. When he woke up in the 
mornings, or maybe when he was in bed with— 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 199 

with the measles, he’d lie and study it, the way 
we used to do with ours. He’d see himself in the 
dark dungeon, and the beautiful lady smiling 
down at him, telling him to come up into the 
sunshine with her. Oh, don’t you see?” 

“I can see that well enough,” Anne agreed. 
“And—yes, I suppose a quick-witted boy would 
discover sometime that that very same dungeon 
was a cellar in his own house. But then what? 
I seem to lose the thread here.” 

“The stone slab, Sis, you’re forgetting that. 
In the picture, one stone in the floor stands out 
from all the others. It doesn’t in the real cistern 
room; at least, I didn’t notice anything peculiar 
about any particular stone, did you? It certainly 
wasn’t made of gold. But there is something dif¬ 
ferent about it, and Dona Ignacia knew it. That 
was what she wanted to tell her son.” 

“And she worked this whole enormous tapestry, 
spent months and months on it, just for that? 
I’m sorry, Pat, but I can’t see any sense in that 
theory. There’s four times as much work on the 
garden part as there is on the cistern room, which 
you say is the important part. Why did she 
bother with the garden at all, if it doesn’t mean 
anything?” 



200 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“I’m not saying the garden doesn’t mean 
anything,” Pat answered impatiently. “It doesn’t 
mean anything to me now, and the gold stone 
does. Maybe the garden was just to make the pic¬ 
ture attractive, so he’d study it a lot. Maybe it has 
some other meaning of its own that we can puz¬ 
zle out later. But right now—and for the very 
first time since we decided to go to Cousin Julia 
—there’s something we can do! And what we’re 
standing around talking for I can’t imagine!” 
Pat drew a deep breath. “Surely the message is 
clear enough now?” 

“ ‘Go and look at a certain spot in the cellar 
floor’—that’s what you think she meant to say?” 
Anne asked. “Honey, you’re beginning to con¬ 
vince me.” 

“At last!” Pat pulled her toward the door. 
“Oh, Anne, this is exciting! After all our work 
and worry, at last we’re beginning to get some 
place! The cellars are kept locked, aren’t they? 
Darling, hurry. I want Dougal!” 

“Wait a minute, dear. We’ll need the tapes¬ 
try,” Anne began taking it from the wall, but 
Pat was already halfway down the stairs. Her 
own excitement rising, the older girl followed 
with the picture. 







XI 

Ellen had put on her raincoat and rubbers 
and had gone to market, but the girls found Dou- 
gal sharpening knives in the kitchen. He looked 
up in surprise as Pat burst into the room, with 
Anne close behind her. 

“Come and unlock the cellar for us, Dougal,” 
Pat cried. “We’ve made the most amazing dis¬ 
covery! At least, we think we have. Anyway, 
we can’t wait a minute to see if it means any¬ 
thing!” 

“Discovery, Miss Pat?” Dougal laid aside 
the carving knife and whetstone. With madden¬ 
ing deliberation he rose to his feet. “And what 

201 




202 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

would you be like to discover on a dull rainy 
afternoon, now?” 

Pat seized the tapestry from her sister and 
eagerly pointed out the gold-worked stone. Dou- 
gal, of course, knew the story of how Cousin Julia 
had given them the panel several weeks before. 
They had found in Dougal a sense of the romantic 
which was lacking in practical, good-natured El¬ 
len. He had sympathized fully with their desire 
to penetrate the mystery of Dona Ignacia’s fate, 
and had been almost as disappointed as Pat when 
their quest seemed to have ended in failure. 

His blue eyes kindled now at the hint of a new 
clue. 

“ ’Tis like ye’ve got hold of something this 
time, right enough!” he exclaimed, as he took 
the bunch of cellar keys from their nail. “What 
the meanin’ of it may be is still to seek, but if 
the answer lies in the old cistern room—well, 
let’s be gettin’ on with it.” 

It was damp and clammy in the dark cellars 
on this rainy day. Anne shivered a little as she 
followed Pat and Dougal through the furnace 
room, and down the narrow passage. Dougal had 
not forgotten his electric torch this time, and the 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 203 

strong beam cut a path before them in the dark¬ 
ness. But the light, instead of making the place 
more cheerful, only heightened the blackness of 
the shadows. 

On their previous trip to the cellars, Anne re¬ 
membered, she had felt very grownup and supe¬ 
rior when little Pat gave way to fright in the 
darkness. But now—a hanging cobweb touched 
her cheek, and she bit back a scream. Tucking 
the rolled-up tapestry under her arm, she broke 
into a run that brought her, breathless, beside 
Dougal and Pat at the entrance to the cistern 
room. 

“Goblins chasing you, my sweet?” Pat asked 
with a touch of malice. “Surely my courageous 
sister isn’t running from shadows? I’m surprised 
at you.” 

“I’m surprised at myself,” Anne acknowl¬ 
edged. “I lost the light when you and Dougal 
turned the corner there, and—oh, you’re quite 
right, Pat. This is a spooky place down here. 
I don’t wonder you shrieked when Smoky 
pounced on you.” 

“I’m glad to hear that—you were just a little 
bit critical the day it happened,” Pat told her. 
“Don’t let’s stand here squabbling, though. We 





204 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

have work to do. Dougal, will you shine your 
torch down on the floor? There, that’s what I 
told you, Sis. Not one of the stones looks the 
least bit different from the others. How can 
we tell which one she meant?” 

“We’ll have to count off.” Anne unrolled the 
tapestry. “I only hope she’s put in the number 
of squares the floor really has. If she hasn’t— 
here, hold this end, will you, Dougal?” 

“Five one way and seven the other.” Pat had 
been hastily counting the stones under their feet. 
“How about that, Sis? Does it check with the 
picture?” 

“Just exactly.” Anne’s end of the tapestry 
wavered a little as she bent closer, tracing the pic¬ 
tured stones with her finger. “The wall with the 
door is missing, but we’re supposed to be looking 
from that direction, I think. Yes, the man-hole 
cover is in the far left-hand corner. That’s right. 
Then the golden stone must be over here, on the 
opposite side. One, two, three, four—five from 
the door, Pat, and two from the wall. Have you 
found it?” 

“This must be it.” Pat counted carefully, and 
then dropped to her knees in the dust. 

“It looks exactly like the others to me,” she 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 205 

added. I can t see any difference in the color, or 
in anything else. It’s the right one, though, 
five from the door and two from the wall. I wish 
I knew what to do now!” 

“Would ye be takin’ the torch, Miss Pat?” 
Dougal hurried forward. “I’ll just give it a good 
goin’ over for ye.” 

He took a penknife from his pocket, and bend¬ 
ing low, he began to scrape the surface of the 
stone. Anne hurriedly rolled the tapestry and 
came to stand beside Pat. The rays of the torch 
made a strong steady circle upon the stone be¬ 
fore which Dougal knelt. 

“Here’s a strange thing,” he said presently. 
The blade of his knife, instead of gritting over 
worn stone, had sunk into some crumbly gray 
substance. 

“Putty!” Dougal lifted his head to smile at 
them. “I’m thinkin’ we’ve found something out 
of the way, right enough. The stone at this end 
is hollowed out, like, and then filled level with 
putty to deceive the eye. Have patience, Miss 
Pat, while I just scrape it clear.” 

The girls waited for what seemed endless min¬ 
utes, with no sound in their ears but the scrape of 
knife against the stone. Then, under their eager 


206 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 


gaze, something took shape. A half-circle of rusty 
iron, its ends fast in the stone slab. The hardened 
putty, stone-colored and smoothed over it, had 
concealed it very cleverly. 

“But what’s it for, Dougal?” Pat demanded, 
as the last crumb of putty fell away. “Have you 
any idea?” 

“I think so, Miss Pat. Stand clear, and we’ll 
soon see. Would ye both mind steppin’ a bit 
farther off? There, now.” 

Keeping as far away as possible himself, Dou¬ 
gal bent over, caught the iron ring in both hands, 
and pulled strongly. As easily as a cigar box 
opening, the stone slab moved on its concealed 
hinges and rose straight in the air. Where it had 
been, black darkness yawned. A breath of chill, 
musty air puffed out into their faces. 

“Glory be!” Dougal exclaimed in awed tones. 
“ ’Twas here, then, just as I always said! Eh, 
but I wish Master Richard could be with us the 
day. Wait until I tell Ellen. Ye’ll laugh at the 
sight of her face. A fable, she says, a fairy tale 
for children! And here it lay, under her feet 
the whiles.” 

Pat caught his arm and shook it impatiently. 
“Dougal, what are you talking about? Don’t 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 207 

stand there gibbering about Ellen—tell us! 
What do you think this hole is?” 

“Dinna ye ken, Miss Pat?” Excitement thick¬ 
ened Dougal’s Scots burr. “What else can it be? 
Happen we’ve hit upon the Smugglers’ Way!” 

“The air seems pure enough,” Dougal ad¬ 
mitted cautiously. He had dropped a lighted 
match into the opening, and they could see the 
little flame burning steadily a good ten feet 
beneath them. 

“Then we’re going down!” Pat fairly danced 
with excitement. “Oh, Dougal, of course we are! 
See, there are steps here at the side. Come on, 
what are we waiting for? Sis, you want to go, 
don’t you?” 

“Of course I do,” Anne agreed. “But wait a 
minute until I get my breath. I’m still gasping 
from seeing the ground open under my feet. 
I’d forgotten all about the Smugglers’ Way. I 
wasn’t even thinking of it. I still don’t see what 
it has to do with Dona Ignacia.” 

“Don’t you?” Pat sounded a little pitying. 
“Why, Sis, it’s as clear as it can be. This is the 
way she went. This is how she disappeared from 
the house without leaving a trace. Think, honey! 


208 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

The Smugglers’ Way leads out to the harbor, 
Dougal said so. There were ships there, plenty 
of them, bound for California. Bound for Europe 
and Asia and Africa too, for that matter, for we 
still don’t know whether she went of her own 
accord or was taken. Oh, if we only knew that! 
I’m doing my best to think well of the old madam, 
but—she could have done it, Anne. I have a 
horrible picture of that poor girl being carried 
down here at dead of night, tied and gagged, 
maybe—shipped off to some strange land—” 
Pat’s eyes dilated in the torch-light. 

Anne, waisting no time, seized her by the 
shoulders and shook her thoroughly. “That will 
be just about enough of that, Pat. If you want 
to be melodramatic, you can come upstairs and 
do it. Upstairs, where it’s warm, and there’s— 
there’s daylight!” Anne’s teeth chattered, and she 
drew her sister to her. “I’m sorry I was rough, 
dear. But this place is so—so weird—and when 
you began that terrible description—well, it just 
seemed to me that I couldn’t bear to listen to it!” 

“Why, Anne, darling!” Patricia patted her 
shoulder in genuine concern. “I didn’t mean 
to upset you, honestly I didn’t! You don’t usu¬ 
ally pay any attention when I let my imagination 








MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 209 

run away with me—maybe that’s why I do it,” 
she said candidly. “I can always count on you to 
jerk me back when I begin to get myself good 
and frightened. I won’t do it again—not down 
here, anyway. And now come on, we’re going 
to explore. Dougal—why, what have you got 
there?” 

“Something I found on the step in the hole 
here, while you young leddies were squabblin’.” 
Dougal looked relieved as the sisters turned smil¬ 
ing faces toward him. Like most grownups, 
he was unable to distinguish between a sisterly 
argument and a genuine quarrel. Now he quickly 
accepted the new topic. 

“ ’Tis a penknife, a mortal old one.” He held 
it out to them. “There’s a name scratched on 
the handle, but my eyes are not too good. Can 
ye make it out, Miss Pat?” 

She took the knife and held it under the rays 
of the torch. The name was rudely carved on the 
worn wooden handle. “Denis O’Toole,” Pat 
spelled out. “Anyone you know, Dougal?” 

“I don’t mind the name,” Dougal was begin¬ 
ning, when Anne interrupted him. 

“Denis—why, that was the gardener in the old 
madam’s time, Pat. Don’t you remember, in 



210 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Jeanie’s diary? She never mentioned his last 
name, but—Dougal, listen. Where is the wine 
cellar? The one where they kept Captain Jack’s 
choicest port?” 

Dougal, looking a little startled at the un¬ 
expected question, answered promptly, “That 
would be next door, Miss Anne. The two rooms 
adjoining this were both filled with wine-bins. 
But may I ask why—” 

“Oh, Sis, how clever of you!” Pat broke in. 
“Did you find the knife inside the hole, Dougal? 
Then that means Denis did know about the pas¬ 
sage ! That’s what he was doing down here when 
the butler caught him, and thought he was trying 
to steal Captain Jack’s wine. I wondered how 
Dona Ignacia came to know the secret of the 
trap-door, but I can see it all now. Denis told 
her.” 

“She was quite friendly with him, Jeanie said,” 
Anne supplied eagerly. “Tve been wondering, 
Pat, if you were right about her escaping by the 
Smugglers’ Way—well, who puttied up the ring 
afterward? But this explains it. It would have 
been Denis, of course. And that proves she 
went of her own free will,” she reminded her sister 
emphatically. 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 211 

“Yes, dear.” Pat’s tone was unusually meek. 
“Well, Dougal, we’re ready if you are. Let’s 
get going.” 

“Let me go first, with the light,” Dougal 
warned. “And don’t crowd too close to me, 
please. It may well be that the roof has fallen 
in, down below, after all these years. I misdoubt 
but ye’d do well to wait here till I take a look- 
see on my own.” 

“And let you make all the discoveries first?” 
Pat scoffed. “You know there’s not a chance, 
Dougal. But we’ll be careful, won’t we, Sis? 
You go on ahead, and if you see a dangerous 
spot just let out a yell, and we’ll stop dead in our 
tracks.” 

“Mind ye don’t forget, then.” Dougal squeezed 
himself through the narrow opening and stepped 
cautiously on the first wooden stair. It creaked 
a little, but bore his weight firmly. The girls 
waited until he reached the bottom, and then 
followed one at a time. 

The three explorers found themselves stand¬ 
ing on a well-paved floor. The tiny empty room 
was stone-walled on three sides. On the fourth 
a passage led off into darkness. Giving Dougal 


212 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

a reasonable start, the two girls followed him 
through the arched doorway. 

The passage, about a yard wide, was high 
enough for the sisters to walk erect, although tall 
Dougal was forced to stoop uncomfortably. As 
he entered the corridor he stumbled, and called 
back to them, “Mind your ways, there. A bit 
rubbish is lyin’ about.” The girls heeded the 
warning, and stepped over the dusty box which 
had partly blocked the doorway. 

The passage was very damp, with little trickles 
of moisture oozing down the greenish stone walls. 
Cobwebs hung thick. Spiders, and beetles of 
some unknown species scurried up the walls and 
beneath their feet. Ahead of them Dougal gave 
a shout, and waved the torch. With a terrified 
squeaking, two giant rats leaped past into the 
darkness. 

“Good gracious!” Pat clung to Anne’s arm. 
“I always thought secret passages were romantic 
—nobody ever told me there were things in them! 
Ooh, save me, Sis, I’m sliding!” 

The passage had sloped sharply under their 
feet. So steep did it now become that grooves 
had been cut in the stone floor. Even with each 
other’s help, the slimy damp made the going 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 213 

treacherous. The girls clutched each other and 
moved with the greatest care. 

“I don’t envy the smugglers rolling heavy casks 
up this hill,” Anne observed presently. “I sup¬ 
pose it has to be steep, though, to get down to 
the water’s edge. Look, Dougal’s stopping. 
Have you found something?” she called out. 

He beckoned them to approach. Pushed to 
one side of the path was a smashed packing-case, 
straw gaping through its broken sides. 

“A relic of the smugglers, I’m thinkin’,” Dou- 
gal chuckled as they came up. “Some careless 
lad slipped with his burden here, and came to 
grief.” He prodded at the straw with his toe, 
and a tinkle of broken glass answered him. 
“Watch out, Miss Pat,” he warned, as she bent 
over the wreckage. “ ’Tis a likely spot for spiders’ 
nests. And rats too, most likely.” 

Pat hastily drew back. “What do you sup¬ 
pose was in it?” she asked. “Wine?” 

“Very likely, Miss Pat, or it may be spirits. 
Not milk, for sure, but the same proverb still 
applies. ‘No good to cry over it—’ ye’ll mind that 
one? Smashed to bits they were, all the dozen 
bottles or so. But ’tisn’t likely them gay young 
British officers wasted any tears, for I’m thinkin’ 


214 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

there was plenty more where this come from.” 

“I’m rather glad we saw that,” Pat said, as they 
walked on. “It makes the smugglers more real, 
don’t you think? I know they were actually here, 
but it all seemed sort of shadowy before. But 
now—why, I can just see them, toiling up this 
path with their boxes and barrels, watching their 
step just as we’re doing, and one of them falling 
down in spite of all his care. I wonder if he was 
scolded for it? I hope maybe he was the last in 
line, and nobody noticed—why, where’s Dougal 
got to?” For sudden dimness had fallen on the 
passage, and the tall figure ahead had disap¬ 
peared. 

“He turned a corner, I think.” Anne hurried 
her sister along. “We must be getting toward 
the end of the passage, surely. It seems to me 
we’ve been traveling this road for weeks! 33 

They rounded the corner and found Dougal a 
few paces beyond. 

“Well, here we are, young ladies,” he said 
wryly, as they came up. “This is where the trail 
ends, in a stone wall.” 

“But there’s a door, isn’t there?” Pat cried. 
“It can’t just end . There’s a way out to the har¬ 
bor, Dougal, you said so. Bring the torch closer.” 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 215 

Her keen eyes searched the wall, and then she 
laughed. “There it is, Dougal, just above my 
head. Do you see? An iron ring like the one 
upstairs. Pull it, quick. I’m dying to see where 
we come out.” 

Seizing the ring, Dougal gave a mighty tug. 
Nothing happened at first, and it was not until 
he had tried several times, exerting all his 
strength, that the stones began to move. A whole 
section of the wall-stones had been cemented 
together to form a door which gradually and 
grudgingly swung toward them. 

Dougal flashed the torch into the opening, and 
then stepped back. 

“Take a look, Miss Pat,” he said ruefully. 
“But I *m afraid ye’re in for a disappointment.” 

He stepped aside, holding the light high. The 
opened door disclosed no exit from the passage. 
Instead, blocking the aperture, was a second wall 
of solid stone. 

“Another door?” Pat asked hopefully. 

Dougal shook his head. “This here will be 
the retainin’ wall that extends all up and down 
the street where the warehouses are. Ye recollect, 
Miss Pat, the drop down from our garden, and 
the great wall there? ’Twas the city built it, to 


216 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

keep the soil on the Heights from washin’ down 
into the bay and siltin’ up the harbor. They’ll 
have put no trick doors in their wall.” 

“Oh, I remember, Dougal,” Anne put in. 
“You told us about that the first day we came. 
But this door we’ve just opened—where does 
it come from, then?” 

“To my thinkin’, this is the way of it, Miss 
Anne. The door is in the old wall, the ones the 
Driscolls built before the Revolution, to protect 
their property. When the British lads built their 
passage, they converted a section of that wall 
into this door. It wouldn’t show from the out¬ 
side, naturally; otherwise the passage could not 
have been a secret one.” 

“I remember, you did tell us the property- 
owners built their own walls long before the 
city’s,” Anne said. “Go on, Dougal.” 

“Aye, Miss Anne. The old wall served its 
purpose well enough, but ’twould not be on the 
massive scale of the municipal one. Well, the 
city engineers came along, and they saw no need 
to spend time and money rippin’ out the old 
wall. They laid their fine new one on in front 
of it, never knowin’ they were sealin’ up the smug¬ 
gler door.” 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 217 

Oh, what difference does all that make?” Pat 
broke in impatiently. “Anne, I’m so sick about 
this I could sit right down here on the ground and 
howl! All my beautiful theories, there they go! 
I had it figured out so perfectly. Old Denis dis¬ 
covered the secret passage, and told Dona Igna- 
cia how she could escape. He helped her get safely 
away—probably he had a small boat waiting at 
the foot of the garden, and rowed her out to the 
ship. Then he came back through the passage, 
closed the slab and put new putty around the 
ring, so no one could discover it—oh, it was a 
beautiful theory! And now, just 1-look at the 
thing!” She was not far from tears. 

Anne said gently, “Hold on a minute, pet. 
What’s happened to your theory? It sounds per¬ 
fectly good to me.” 

“Now?” Pat stared at her. “But it’s ruined, 
Sis! What good would it have done her to get 
this far? She’d only have had to turn around and 
go back. The passage ends in a solid wall.” 

“Dougal, you tell her. You did tell us that day 
in the garden, but in her excitement Pat has 
forgotten. When was the city wall built?” 

“Ye keep your wits about ye, Miss Anne,” 
Dougal said admiringly. Then, turning to Pat, 



218 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“ ’Tis true enough, what your sister’s gettin’ at. 
The city put up their wall in the late ’80’s, Miss 
Pat. Many long years after the little Spanish 
madam left this house.” 

“Oh! Oh—why, how utterly stupid of me!” 
Pat laughed. “I knew that as well as either of 
you, but I get so mixed up over new and old 
around here. Everything’s old, so far as I’m 
concerned —I can’t tell the Revolutionary period 
from the ’50’s and the ’80’s, and I keep forget¬ 
ting. But—then Dona Ignacia could have gone 
through this door here? The outside wall wasn’t 
even thought of in her time? Oh, that’s grand. 
Then I don’t have to give up my theory, after 
all.” 

The steep climb back was something of an anti¬ 
climax. Dougal, justified in his long-held con¬ 
viction that the Smugglers’ Way really existed, 
was the most cheerful of the trio. Ellen would 
have to swallow all those slurs at his “deducin’,” 
now, and he was anxious to carry the news to her. 

The two girls were disappointed that the pas¬ 
sage had thrown no further light on Dona Igna- 
cia’s fate. It was all very well to weave theories, as 
Pat had done, but it would have been comforting 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 219 

to find a foundation of fact for those theories. 
With Denis’ help, the Spanish girl could have 
made her escape this way, but that was all that 

they could say positively. Whether she actually 
did so— 

“If only she had dropped something!” Pat 
mourned. “Denis lost his knife, so we know he 
was here. But if only Dona Ignacia had left 
something—anything, for us to find! A hand¬ 
kerchief, or oh, I don’t care what! But you do 
believe my theory, don’t you, Sis? Even if I’ve 
nothing real to prove it by?” 

Why, yes, I think it’s the only reasonable 
one,” Anne answered. “There’s just one point 
that bothers me. Why did she leave her baby 
behind? Why, when she planned her escape, 
didn’t she plan to take him with her?” 

“But Anne, she couldn’t! She never even saw 
her baby, except under the nurse’s eye. What 
chance would she have had of getting him to her¬ 
self for a thing like this ? And even if she could, 
there’s something else. Do you think the old 
madam would ever have let that happen? She 
didn’t try to have Dona Ignacia followed and 
brought back, but that was because she didn’t 
care. The poor girl was only a nuisance around 


220 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

the place. But the baby was a different matter 
entirely. He was a Driscoll. She’d have scoured 
the seven seas to get him back, and she’d have 
succeeded. She had money, and influence—why, 
I don’t doubt she could have had gunboats chas¬ 
ing any ship that was carrying her grandchild 
away! Don’t you see how it was, Sis?” 

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Anne admitted. 
“Yes. I suppose you’re right. Oh, be careful, 
Pat—” 

Patricia, reaching for her arm on a slippery 
stretch of floor, accidentally gave her sister a 
push which sent her sprawling. 

“Darling, I’m so sorry!” She bent to help 
Anne to her feet. “Are you hurt?” 

“Not a bit. I forgot to watch out for that old 
box by the doorway, and when you bumped me 
I tripped over it.” 

“Box? But we passed the broken packing- 
case away back there. Oh, my goodness, we’re 
back where we started from, aren’t we ? I wasn’t 
noticing.” 

Pat followed to where Dougal was waiting in 
the small room with the steps, where they had 
begun their exploration of the underground pas¬ 
sage. 

Anne, pausing to rub a spot of mud from her 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 221 

skirt, asked idly, “What is this box, anyway, 
Dougal? I nearly fell over it when we went 
down, and this time I really did bark my shins 
on it.” 

“I know nought of it, Miss Anne. Happen 
it’s more of the smugglers’ gear. Would ye like 
to have a look at it?” 

Dougal dragged the box to the foot of the 
steps and turned his torch upon it. Although 
small, it was remarkably heavy. A cloud of dust 
rose from the lid as he let the end thump to the 
floor. 

“Looks old,” Anne commented. “It isn’t 
broken like the other, anyway. Can you open it, 
Dougal?” 

The chest, of rough unpainted wood, was 
strongly iron-bound with massive strips and cor¬ 
ners. There was no lock, but it was held tightly 
shut by an iron hasp in which heavy wire had 
been twisted. 

“Just a minute, Miss Anne. If ye’ll take the 
light—” The rusted wire gave little trouble. In 
a few minutes Dougal had freed the catch. The 
girls bent forward as he raised the lid— 

“I don’t believe it,” Patricia said flatly, a few 
minutes later. “Such things simply don’t hap- 


222 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

pen, not outside of books and movies, anyway. 
And they certainly don’t happen to me! It’s a 
joke, isn’t it, Dougal? Maybe it’s one you thought 
up yourself, just to fool us. Dougal, did you? 
It’s somebody's joke, anyway, and I’m not going 
to be simple enough to be taken in by it. All 
these little bits and chunks of shiny stuff—they’re 
not real gold! They can’t be! You might just 
as well own up, Dougal. You are playing a trick 
on us, aren’t you?” 

“Me, Miss Pat?” Dougal’s voice sounded a 
little dazed. “And from where would I be gettin’ 
a chest of solid gold nuggets to play tricks with? 
I’ll tell ye straight, I’m as mystified as a man 
can well be. It’s past my understandin’, and 
that’s the truth.” 

“They are solid gold, Dougal?” Anne asked, 
running her hand through the gleaming mass. 
There were small bean-sized pebbles and larger 
cinder-shaped nuggets, all of shining yellow 
metal. The chest brimmed with them, winking 
in the torch-light. “They aren’t brass, or some¬ 
thing like that?” Anne finished doubtfully. 

Dougal picked up a good-sized chunk and set 
his strong teeth in it. The marks showed quite 
plainly when he held it to the light. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 223 

“Ye can’t do that with brass, Miss Anne. I’m 
no expert, mind, but I don’t think there’s any 
doubt. This is pure virgin gold, just as it came 
from the mine—and a rare rich one it must have 
been! This has not been melted down, nor worked 
in any way. Ye can put your mind at rest there, 
Miss Anne. Where it comes from I’ve no more 
idea than the man in the moon, but ’tis true gold, 
make no mistake about it.” 

“And you don't know where it came from, 
Dougal?” Pat persisted. “No, of course you 
don’t, if it’s real gold. I thought at first—well, 
you know that box of candy Doctor Dick gave me 
last Christmas, Anne? It was called the ‘Treasure 
Chest.’ Every piece was wrapped in gold foil, 
and it looked exactly like this. It was the first 
thing I thought of, when Dougal lifted the lid. 
But—why, then I can begin to get excited now! 
There’s something to get excited about! This 
is real!” She scooped up a handful of nuggets 
and examined them delightedly. 

“That’s what Dougal has just been telling us, 
honey.” Anne tried hard to keep her voice as 
calm as usual, but she found it difficult. “Where 
did they come from, Dougal? Can’t you even 
guess? The smugglers, do you suppose? But 




224 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

why would they leave such a treasure here? 
Why, this must be worth—goodness, I can’t 
imagine how much money! There must be a for¬ 
tune in this box.” 

“Ye may well say that, Miss Anne. Gold is 
sellin’ in the market at thirty-five dollars the 
ounce. If the chest is full, as it seems to be—well, 
it fair takes my breath away to think of it!” 

“What do you mean, if it’s full?” Pat de¬ 
manded. “You don’t think they put pebbles on 
the bottom, like that Arabian Nights story, do 
you? We’ll soon see about that.” 

She plunged both hands deep into the mass of 
metal, stirring it vigorously. 

No disappointing pebbles disclosed themselves. 
There had been no Arabian Nights deception 
here. Right to the bottom the chest was filled 
with genuine gold nuggets. But under Pat’s en¬ 
ergetic manipulation something else worked itself 
into sight, something the sight of which caused 
her to emit a joyful whoop. Quickly she pounced 
upon the sharp white corner of an envelope and 
drew it from the gleaming hoard. 

“A letter! Oh, what luck! Look, Anne, it’s 
sealed with a big blob of purple wax—I didn’t 
know anyone used sealing wax nowadays! But 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 225 

what am I thinking of—this wasn’t done ‘now¬ 
adays/ was it?” While she babbled excitedly she 
was turning the letter over with shaking hands. 
It was addressed in faded, violet ink. Pat wrin¬ 
kled her brows perplexedly. “I can’t make it out 
at all. If it’s a name, it’s a funny one.” 

“Let me see.” Anne took the envelope from 
her. “ ( A mi Jiijo pequeho / ” she read slowly. 

“And who would he be?” Pat demanded. “I 
never heard of him.” 

“I think you have, dear. It’s Spanish, and it 
isn’t a name.” 

“Anne, you’re cruel! You’re just keeping me 
in suspense on purpose! Tell me quick! What 
does it mean?” 

Anne smiled at her, but her own voice trembled 
with excitement. “It means,” she said slowly, 
“To my infant son.” 

“Dona Ignacia!” Pat shrieked. She threw her 
arms about her sister and hugged her raptu¬ 
rously. “She left the gold—and there’s a letter 
to tell us all about it! To tell us all about every¬ 
thing! Oh, darling, and to think I was ready 
to give up. We’ve done it, Anne—we’ve done it 
after all!” 




XII 

“Here’s the Spanish dictionary!” Patricia 
burst into the kitchen, raindrops glistening on her 
dark curls. “I ran all the way to the library, and 
every step back. How far have you got, Anne? 
What does she say?” 

“I haven’t gotten anywhere yet,” Anne ad¬ 
mitted. She was seated at the kitchen table, the 
newly-found letter before her, pencil and paper 
at her right hand. “The writing is terrible, and 
the spelling is no better. I’ve always heard that 
the Spanish Californians cultivated the social 
graces and neglected the three R’s, but I never 
realized before what a good job they made of it. 

226 











MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 227 

Oh, it’s from Dona Ignacia, all right. See, here’s 
her signature. But I haven’t been able to make 
out the first paragraph yet.” 

“Well, my goodness—you took Spanish last 
year! I thought you knew it.” 

“I thought so too. But I’m used to reading 
print, and the words I know are spelled correctly. 
When they’re not, how can I be expected to recog¬ 
nize them? I’m doing the best I can, honey, and 
the dictionary will be a help. If you’ll just sit 
down, and stop breathing down my neck—” 

“All right. But do hurry! I don’t see how I 
can wait another minute.” 

Fortunately for Anne’s peace of mind, Ellen 
came in just then. Scarcely giving her time to set 
down her market basket, Pat and Dougal seized 
upon her with their exciting news. 

Dougal had carried the heavy box of gold 
up from the cellar, so that it was easy to over¬ 
come her first incredulity. It was her husband’s 
idea that she should apologize for ever doubt¬ 
ing that he had properly “deduced” the existence 
of the Smugglers’ Way, and she did so very 
handsomely. The sight of the treasure almost 
overwhelmed her. 

“And ye think it belonged to young Mrs. 




228 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Jack?” she asked. “But indeed I don’t see how 
that could be, Miss Pat. She had no gold, poor 
lamb. Her family were land-poor, Auntie al¬ 
ways said. They had that great farm—rancho, 
didn’t they call it? And that was all. She 
brought no dowry to Captain Jack, and after 
his death she was dependent on the old madam. 
If she’d had wealth of her own she could have 
got away, seems like.” 

“But she did get away,” Pat pointed out. “And 
she did have the gold, because here it is. She 
left it for her son—or at least, I suppose she did. 
We found the letter in the chest. We’ll know the 
truth about the whole business when Sis gets the 
letter translated, if she ever does.” 

“Then maybe we’d better keep quiet, Miss 
Pat, and give her every chance. For ’tis a queer 
tale, and I own I’ll be glad if we can get to the 
bottom of it.” 

Ellen began to shell the peas she had brought 
for dinner, and Pat sat down to help her, trying 
her best not to fidget. Dougal picked up the 
morning paper, but the glances he stole at Anne 
from time to time showed his complete lack of 
interest in the European situation. 

Outside the skies slowly lightened, until in a 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 229 

sudden burst of glory the sinking sun sprang 
free, its rays touching the harbor waters to gold. 
Water dripped steadily from the eaves of the 
old house, but out in the garden the rain-lashed 
flowers lifted timid heads and sent out a wave of 
fragrance. A fat robin forsook the shelter of the 
grape-arbor and hopped busily in the drenched 
grass. 

Although by a superhuman effort she was 
keeping quiet, Pat’s eyes hardly left her sister. 
She noted now that Anne’s frowning intentness 
had lessened. She was scribbling steadily, refer¬ 
ring often to the dictionary, and nodding to her¬ 
self as some difficult phrase fell into place. 

Finally she picked up the paper in her own 
handwriting and read it through. She struck out 
a word, changed a sentence, and then gave a little 
sigh of satisfaction. Looking up, she smiled as 
she met three pairs of anxious eyes. 

“I think I have it at last,” she said quietly. 
“My translation is pretty rough—I’ve had to do 
a lot of guessing. But I think I’ve got the sense 
of it, anyway. Listen.” 

The room was very still as she began to read 
in her soft, pretty voice, which trembled a little 
in some of the passages. 



230 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Dear my son, 

This comes to you from the hand of your un¬ 
happy mother, and is for no eye but your own. 
If you think to condemn me, wait, I pray you, 
until you know all. 

I am a Castillero, in whose veins flows the 
proudest blood of Old Spain. I can no longer 
endure life among these barbarian Yankees, 
whose only thought is money, money, money! 
My Mama warned me that it would be so, but I 
was a heedless, reckless girl, blinded by love. Had 
death spared your father I might have won 
through to happiness, but with his going all hope 
departed. The woman who is his mother is my 
enemy. I will speak no evil of her, but it is right 
that you should know the truth. I cannot breathe 
under her roof. 

I go to my own people. Old Denis, the gar¬ 
dener, has been my good friend. I have rewarded 
him, but I commend him to your lasting esteem. 
For he found a seaman to take a letter to my 
Mama, telling her of my miserable lot. He re¬ 
ceived the reply and brought it to me, and with 
his help we have made a most careful plan. It 
has required many months to work out, but now 
all is ready. I leave this house tonight. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 231 

This is our plan, my son. At midnight tonight 
a small boat will lie at the water's edge. At its 
oars will be Juan Bautista Mendez, faithful serv¬ 
ant of the Castilleros. He arrived at this port 
several days ago, bearing from my Mama a chest 
of the gold newly-discovered upon our rancho. 
Denis will guide me to Juan's boat, by way of a 
hidden passage of which he alone knows the secret. 
She, thy grandmother, would not permit of my 
departure, and it is vital that she should not know. 
I shall leave a letter under her door, telling her 
that she will be troubled with me no more. 

My heart bleeds, my son, that I cannot take you 
with me in my flight. But my Mama, who is very 
wise, counsels against it. And indeed it is true, 
what my Mama says. She, the grandmother, 
would not brook your loss, as I think she will 
mine, who am of slight consequence to her. The 
sailing-master also, who is Juan's friend, refuses 
to take the risk of your presence. With a torn 
heart I have yielded to their persuasions. 

Ifl were wise, I should say farewell to you for¬ 
ever. But oh, my little one, that poor bleeding 
heart yearns over you! Already, in your baby 
innocence, you are being taught to disdain me. It 
is better, believe me, it is far better that I go 


232 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

now, leaving not even a memory to mar your 
peace. 

In my despair I have contrived a device which 
brings me some comfort. My letter to your grand¬ 
mother will make one last request which I can 
but hope she will see fit to grant. I ask her to give 
you—not in memory of me, but merely as a part 
of the furnishings of your room—the tapestry 
square I have made. Your poor mother is very 
cunning, dearest one. I have said that she need 
not mention my name to you. I ask only that she 
hang the fabric over your bed. Surely she will not 
refuse so slight a thing? 

If this scrawl come to your eyes, it is because 
you have read the riddle of the tapestry. But lest 
there be any doubt, let me make its meaning clear. 
I am leaving you imprisoned in this dark house, 
my little one. But by lifting a colored stone in 
a certain cellar, you may find the way to a land 
which is a veritable garden of flowers and sun¬ 
shine — California, where your mother awaits you. 
The gold which Juan brought I am leaving for 
you to employ to that end, for well I know that 
she will never furnish the means for such a jour¬ 
ney. 

My son, you are but an infant now, and help- 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 233 

less, as I am helpless. But when you are twenty - 
one you will he a man. She cannot stop you then 
from following the dictates of your own heart. 
If she has not taught you to hate me utterly; if 
you have any feeling of tenderness for the silly 
weak mother who flees now from what she finds 
intolerable will you not take the gold and come 
to me? You will find me at the Rancho de 
Refugia, near Monterey, the home of my fathers. 

May our Blessed Lady and all the saints have 
you in their keeping, my small one, and send you 
safely to where your wretched mother waits and 
prays. 

Ignacia del Castillero y Driscoll. 

The soft voice died into stillness. 

Impatiently Pat blinked back the tears. “And 
she waited, and prayed, and he never came! He 
never even knew! He grew up, and married, and 
had a son of his own. Right here in this house, 
pottering around with his stamp collections, never 
dreaming that out there in California his poor 
mother was waiting, and hoping! She must have 
thought he didn’t care at all. And then he died, 
never knowing. Oh, I think it’s terrible!” 

“It’s pretty sad.” Anne’s own eyes were misty. 


234 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“But honestly, Pat—this is another proof that 
the poor girl simply didn’t have ordinary com¬ 
mon sense! It was a reckless chance to take, 
pinning all her hopes to the picture. Even if he’d 
been allowed to have it, she couldn’t be sure that 
he’d ever puzzle it out. Look at the years and 
years it hung in Cousin Julia’s drawing-room, 
and she never suspected there was a secret hid¬ 
den in it. Maybe Doctor Dick’s father would 
never have suspected it either. And that would 
be even worse, it seems to me. To have it under 
his eyes all the time, and not to know.” 

“Yes, that would have been worst of all,” Pat 
agreed. “In a way it’s a comfort to know that 
he didn’t have it. But I can’t believe it would 
have happened that way, Sis. If he’d had the 
chance he’d have worked it out—oh, I know he 
would! Cousin Julia’s too old, you couldn’t ex¬ 
pect her to imagine herself into a picture. But 
a little boy, growing up with it—oh, he should 
have had his chance! I’ll never, never forgive his 
grandmother for that!” 

“ ’Twas ill done of the old madam, for sure,” 
Ellen said seriously. “I had not thought it of a 
lady like her. And to let the wicked whispers 
go around that the poor little thing had done away 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 235 

with herself—eh, she was at fault there. For 
was not there the letter to tell her the truth of it? 
I wonder she did not speak out, for well she must 
have known the tongues would clack in this 
place/’ 

“I suppose it was that pride of hers,” Anne 
offered. “She was Mrs. Ephraim Driscoll; she 
didn’t have to explain her family affairs to the 
world. And I suppose she didn’t like to admit 
that her daughter-in-law ran away because she 
couldn’t stand living in the house with her. In a 
way you have to admire her, Ellen. A weaker 
woman would have made up some plausible lie 
that would have smoothed everything over. She 
had too much regard for truth to do that, so she 
simply said nothing.” 

“Eh, there’s something in that, Miss Anne. 
The old madam was a rare rugged one for truth, 
right enough.” Ellen turned to Pat, who was re¬ 
reading the letter, her face working painfully. 

Ellen laid a work-worn hand on her shoulder. 
“Ye mustn’t take on over it, Miss Pat. ’Tis a 
pitiful business, for sure. But remember, it’s all 
over and done these many years. Mr. Edward 
had a happy enough life, in his own quiet way, 
and I doubt if he grieved after the mother he 



236 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

never knew. He was well suited to his life here, 
and if he’d gone there to the far West, among 
them queer foreigners, happen ’twould have 
brought little joy to his mother or himself 
either. ’Tis not for us to question the ways of 
Providence, is it, now? It may well be that all 
happened for the best.” 

“Yes, and look ye, Miss Pat,” Dougal put in. 
“We don’t know, now, whether the poor young 
lady ever reached the home she loved so dear. 
’Twas a long and fearful voyage—in the dead of 
winter, too. Many a good ship left her bones 
bleachin’ on the rocks off Cape Horn in them 
days. Think how much sadder ’twould ha’ been if 
the poor young man had followed the clue, only to 
find that the mother he sought had never reached 
her native shores.” 

“Well, that’s the feeblest piece of consolation 
I ever heard!” Pat exclaimed indignantly. “The 
ideas you have, Dougal—oh, but I wish you 
hadn’t had that one! If she got home to her 
‘Mama’—doesn’t that sound childish and sweet? 
—she did have some sort of peace for the rest of 
her life. Even though her son disappointed her. 
But if her ship was wrecked—why then she 
never had anything! You can say what you like 




MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 237 

about Providence, Ellen, but that isn’t fair! Sis, 
you don’t think it happened that way, do you?” 

“Oh, no, I’m sure she got home all right,” 
Anne answered quickly. “Dougal only mentioned 
something that might have happened; he didn’t 
say it did.” Anne threw him a warning glance. 
She knew how Dougal loved an argument, and 
she did not want him to go further with his well- 
meant effort at consolation. Since they could 
not know Dona Ignacia’s story to the last chap¬ 
ter, for Pat’s peace of mind and her own, Anne 
was determined upon the happy ending. 

“Even though her son never came—and she 
must have had some happy years waiting for him 
—there was her mother, and her friends, and her 
old home to comfort her,” Anne hurried on. 
“Think how glad they must have been to see her 
back! I expect they gave a big fiesta right away. 
There’d be feasting, and music—and oh, the 
dancing! I can just see her, in a brand-new pair 
of red-heeled slippers, whirling and clicking her 
castanets, all her troubles behind her—” 

“And getting a great big hand this time!” 
Anne’s face brightened. “They’d throw roses 
at her feet, instead of sitting with frozen faces 
and tittering behind their hands. Oh, what a 





238 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

relief it must have been to her, to get back to 
where she could breathe! Her five years in 
Brooklyn would be like a bad dream to her, 
wouldn’t they? And now she was awake, in her 
own warm, flowery country—and she’d never, 
never have to dream that awful dream again!” 

“That’s the way it was, I’m sure.” Anne took 
the letter from her and tenderly folded it back 
into its envelope. But to herself she added, “At 
least, I hope so!” 

“Miss Anne,” Ellen said presently, “have you 
thought about all this treasure here? It’ll be Mas¬ 
ter Richard’s, I take it, since ’twas left for his 
father, and him the only heir? That box holds a 
goodly sum of money, I’m thinkin’.” 

Anne started. “Why, no, I hadn’t thought 
about it at all, that way. We were talking about 
how much the gold was worth, down there in the 
cellar, but we hadn’t got around to wondering 
about whom it belonged to. Because just about 
then Pat dived in and brought up the letter, and 
that put everything out of our minds but Dona 
Ignacia. I suppose—why, yes, of course it would 
be Doctor Dick’s, wouldn’t it? He hadn’t any 
brothers or sisters.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 239 

“Money!” Pat exclaimed suddenly. “Money 
for Doctor Dick—why, Anne! It’s what he 
wants, more than anything else in the world. Oh, 
you needn’t snicker, Dougal. Of course I know 
everyone wants money, but Doctor Dick—well, 
he really wants it! Doesn’t he, Sis?” 

“What she means, Dougal,” Anne explained, 
“is that Doctor Dick wants money for a special 
purpose. He’d like to open a clinic for crippled 
children—that’s what you’re talking about, isn’t 
it, Pat?” 

“Of course. He does the most marvellous 
things, Dougal—miracles, they are. There was 
a little boy in Middletown named Johnny Fio- 
relli, who’d never walked since he was born. His 
people didn’t have any money, but they had him 
at the city hospital for a long time, and the doc¬ 
tors there did all they could. I don’t know the 
medical side of it, of course. All I know is 
that they said there wasn’t any hope that he’d ever 
be able to walk. But they had his mother bring 
him in every week for some sort of treatments, 
and that’s where Doctor Dick saw him first. And 
he heard about an operation an English surgeon 
had just done on a case like Johnny’s—something 
new, that had never been tried before.” 


240 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

'That was Sir James Hodson, the man he’s 
working with this summer,’’ Anne put in eagerly. 
“Doctor Dick wrote to him, and asked him 
whether he thought the operation would help 
Johnny. Sir James wrote back and encouraged 
him to try it, and told him just how it was done. 
The doctors at the hospital were all against it— 
they said it was too new, and they were afraid 
it wouldn’t work. At first they even refused 
to let Doctor Dick use the operating room there 
—he had quite a battle over it. But the parents 
were for it, of course—it was the first hope the 
poor things had ever been given. So Doctor Dick 
did get permission to operate at last, and—” 

“And it worked!” Pat carried on triumphantly. 
“Johnny Fiorelli can walk as well as I can, now! 
He simply worships Doctor Dick, and so do his 
people. But that’s just one case. There are hun¬ 
dreds of crippled children out there in Middle- 
town, and Doctor Dick is just aching for a chance 
to do something for them. I don’t mean that he 
can cure them all—he’s no magician, of course. 
But there’s such a lot he can do, especially after 
this summer with Sir James. Only, it takes 
money, and lots of it. It’s been just a beautiful 
dream of his, to have his own clinic. Remember, 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 241 

Sis, we were talking about it—good heavens, was 
it only this afternoon? So many things have 
happened since, it seems like last week. Well, 
anyway, we were wishing some millionaire would 
give him a lot of money—remember? And 
now—” her voice deepened to awe. “Now the 
money’s here! His dream can come true! He 
won’t have to wait and hope any longer.” 

“Indeed, and that’s a fair miracle in itself, 
when ye think of it,” Ellen said soberly. “What 
ye’ve told us is no surprise to me, Miss Pat. 
When Master Richard was a wee lad he was al¬ 
ways for doctorin’ the sufferin’. Many’s the bro¬ 
ken-legged cat or dog he’s brought in off the street 
to bind up in my kitchen. Aye, even the sparrows 
—I mind he fixed one once with a wooden peg 
whittled from a bit twig. The poor creature was 
flounderin’ about in the grass with one leg 
smashed when he found it, and ye’d laugh to see 
the little thing hop about on the new one Master 
Richard gave it. Eh, he was a clever one for 
contrivin’ to do good, that he was. And I’m 
right thankful the way has been opened for him 
to do great good now.” 

“And maybe you think we’re not thankful!” 
Pat breathed. “Oh, I can’t wait to tell him! 



242 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

What’s the quickest way, Sis? A cable? Then 
take your pencil and let’s make one up. I sup¬ 
pose we can’t put it all in a message, but we’ll get 
it off tonight, and then we’ll write him the whole 
story by the first mail.” 

Doctor Dick’s answering cablegram arrived 
the following day. It simply instructed them to 
get in touch at once with his lawyer. 

Pat’s mouth drooped as she read the brief 
message. 

“Why, he’s not a bit excited! Do you sup¬ 
pose—Sis!” she exclaimed indignantly. “Do you 
think he doesn’t believe us?” 

“I shouldn’t, in his place,” Anne laughed. 
“After all, it’s a most incredible story, Pat. And 
I don’t suppose our cable was very clear—it’s 
pretty hard to get something like that in a few 
words. Don’t worry, honey, he’ll believe it all 
right when he gets our letter, and I think he’ll 
show enough excitement to suit you then. Now 
let’s see, this Mr. Huntingdon—where do we find 
him, Dougal?” 

“His office is in the National Bank Building, 
Miss Anne,” Dougal answered. “An easy walk 
from here. Ye’ll find Mr. Huntingdon a real 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 243 

nice gentleman. I know him well. I’d walk along 
with ye, but ’twouldn’t do to leave the house with 
all this gold in it. Be sure ye have him send some¬ 
one for it right away, Miss Anne. I never closed 
an eye the night, with my old service revolver 
close to hand. I’ll not draw an easy breath till 
it’s safe in the bank vaults.” 

“That’s funny,” Pat chuckled. “That gold has 
been in the house longer than you have, Dougal, 
and I never heard that it interfered with your 
sleep before. Oh, never mind, I know what you 
mean. I’ll be glad to see it safe in the bank too. 
Come on, Anne, let’s go and dig out Mr. Hunt¬ 
ingdon.” 

The lawyer proved to be a ponderous old 
gentleman of the gold-headed-cane school. He 
received them courteously, and listened with lifted 
eyebrows to their story. To their “preposterous 
story,” Anne felt sure he was thinking. Even to 
herself it sounded far-fetched and unconvincing 
as she and Pat hurried through it. 

Cutting her sister short, Anne leaned forward. 
“While we’re telling you the rest of it, Mr. 
Huntingdon,” she suggested, “would you like to 
send someone over for the gold? Dougal feels 


244 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

that it ought to be sent to the bank as soon as 
possible.” 

The old gentleman started. “MacDougall is 
aware of this—this interesting discovery of yours, 
young lady? Hm. Well, perhaps—yes, on the 
whole—” He touched a button on his desk. To 
the clerk who appeared he gave brief instructions. 
A bank messenger was to be sent to collect a— 
er, package, at the Driscoll house. 

“He’s going to be awfully surprised when the 
man really comes back with a package!” Pat 
whispered, while this was going on. “Sis, he 
doesn’t believe a word of it.” 

“I know!” Anne whispered back. “But iust 
wait—” 

“You were saying, Miss Patterson?” The old 
lawyer turned his courtly attention to them again. 
They took up the recital once more, deliberately 
putting in every detail now, taking delight in 
realizing how very much like fiction the whole 
thing sounded. They spun it out until the bank 
messenger appeared, looking very much ag¬ 
grieved at the weight of the box he had been asked 
to carry. 

The sisters were fully rewarded by the expres¬ 
sion on the old gentleman’s face as he lifted the 
lid. 





MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 245 

“But really—really, upon my word! The most 
amazing thing—why, really!” he gasped. 

“But we told you there was a chest of gold, 
Mr. Huntingdon,” Pat said sweetly. “Didn’t 
you believe us?” 

“Why, er—certainly, certainly. But really, 
this is amazing, most amazing! The Smugglers’ 
Way—yes, I heard of that in my boyhood. Pirate 
gold, no doubt. Dear, dear!” 

“I don’t think you quite followed our story, 
Mr. Huntingdon,” Anne said, with the utmost 
politeness. “Would you like us to repeat it?” 

The old gentleman looked very sheepish. 
“Well, to tell you the truth, my dear, I thought 
you were a pair of romantic young ladies who had 
got hold of some family yarn. That rascal Mac- 
Dougall is quite a spinner of tales, and I wasn’t 
sure—I must apologize, I really must. If you 
will be good enough to relate this amazing story 
again, I assure you I shall not be lacking in at¬ 
tentiveness this time.” 

After leaving Mr. Huntingdon’s office, the 
girls dawdled a bit in the afternoon sunshine, 
slowly strolling homeward. Pat stopped to ad¬ 
mire a new car in the window of a motor show¬ 


room. 





246 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“There’s a beauty I’d like to own,” she ob¬ 
served. “It’s the same make as Doctor Dick’s, 
only his is an old model. I expect he’ll be getting 
a new one now, with all this money. Anne!” she 
had started to walk on, but suddenly she stopped 
dead in her tracks. 

“What is it, honey? We must be getting 
home.” 

“All right, but listen.” Pat fell into step with 
her sister. “I’ve just had the most marvellous 
idea—the sight of that car put it into my head. 
I wonder—oh, I don’t see why he wouldn’t! 
Anne, Doctor Dick did promise to drive us to 
California next year, didn’t he? You remember, 
when we were talking about how you wanted to 
go, and you said you’d just as soon come here 
this summer? He did promise.” 

“Yes, I remember. But what has that to do 
with this wonderful idea of yours?” 

“Everything! Sis, he doesn’t have to hurry 
back to work now. He’s rich, he wouldn’t ever 
have to work if he didn’t want to. When do you 
think he’ll come home? Right away?” 

“I don’t think so, dear. Even when he hears 
from Mr. Huntingdon, and knows it’s all true, 
I think he’ll want to finish up with Sir James.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 247 

“That’s what I thought. That’s five weeks 
more, and how I’m ever going to live through it 
heaven only knows. But if I do live through it— 
Anne, are you listening?” 

“With all my ears, darling. Get on with it.” 

“Well, we found the gold for him. There’s 
no getting around that,” Pat argued. “If it 
hadn’t been for us, he’d have gone on being poor 
as a church mouse, waiting and hoping for his 
clinic—that’s true, isn’t it? All right. Then I 
think we’re entitled to a reward for what we’ve 
done.” 

“Oh, Pat!” Anne looked distressed. “That 
isn’t a nice thing to say. We were glad to do it! 
We don’t want any reward.” 

“Well, my goodness, I didn’t mean to sound 
greedy! We’ve had all the fun of the adventure, 
I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. The re¬ 
ward I was thinking about—oh, all right. I 
won’t say any more about it.” 

“But what was it, Pat? I thought you meant 
you wanted Doctor Dick to give us some of the 
gold." 

“Gracious, no! Where did you get that idea? 
This was it, Sis. I thought—well, Doctor Dick 
did promise to take us to California next year. So 




248 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

I thought, if he wanted to do something nice for 
us, we’d ask him to take us now. This summer, 
as soon as he and Mums get back. You’d like 
that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Of course. I’ve always wanted — oh!” Anne 
looked affectionately at her sister. “You’re still 
thinking about—” 

“About Dona Ignacia. Yes, Sis, I am. It 
seems so heartless to take her gold and spend it— 
oh, even in a good cause that I’m sure she’d ap¬ 
prove of!—and never give another thought to her. 
I’ll be haunted all my life if I don’t really know 
that she reached her home safely, and lived out 
her days in peace. I—I just have to know, Sis! 
We can find out something if we go to Monterey, 
surely we can! There’ll be somebody there who 
remembers the family, and knows what happened 
to her. I don’t want to wait a whole year, and I 
don’t see how you can. Don’t you think Doctor 
Dick would take us now, if we asked him?” 

“You never give up, do you?” Anne said ad¬ 
miringly. “When you start a trail, you follow it 
to the very end. You began by wanting to ‘find 
out all about Dona Ignacia,’ and you’re not satis¬ 
fied yet.” 

“Yes, and if I’d given up any place along the 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 249 

trail, where would we be now? Anne, do you 
think Doctor Dick will—” 

“I think he’ll have to,” Anne told her. “At 
least, he will if he wants a minute’s peace for the 
next year.” 




XIII 


“If you will wait here,” the lay sister said in 
her prim gentle voice, “the Reverend Mother 
will come to you shortly.” 

“Thank you.” Doctor Richard Driscoll mar¬ 
shalled his little party into the convent parlor. 
“Margaret, will you sit here? Girls—” 

Rather shyly the sisters perched upon straight- 
backed chairs and looked about them. The room 
was very simply furnished, with whitewashed 
walls and bare scrubbed floor. The only decora- 

250 













MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 251 

tion was a magnificent cluster of roses on the 
marble-topped center table. But the long win¬ 
dows gave on to a patio of riotous bloom, roses and 
giant geraniums and crimson poppies shading 
the smooth clipped turf. There were flowering 
vines too, and great old trees. And—yes, a wind¬ 
ing cobbled walk that looked strangely familiar 
to the girls. 

Pat clutched her sister. “The garden in the 
picture—Anne, it is! Don’t you recognize it? 
We really have stepped into it, just as I imagined 
doing! There’s the path where Dona Ignacia 
walked, waiting for her son to come to her. And 
this—” she looked about her, “This is her home. 
We’re actually in it!” 

“It does seem wonderful, doesn’t it? When 
they told us in Monterey that the old Castillero 
rancho had been turned into a convent, I was 
afraid we’d find everything changed. But it’s 
exactly the way I’d always imagined it. Doctor 
Dick,” she turned to her step-father, “don’t you 
think this is the original ranch-house?” 

* “Oh, yes. They’ll have made some changes in 
the inside rooms, probably, to adapt it to convent 
use, but the house itself goes back to Mission days, 
you can see that. I wonder when all this hap- 



252 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

pened? The young chap at the Chamber of 
Commerce said it had been the Convent de 
Refugia ever since he could remember, but—oh!” 

He got to his feet, and instinctively Mother 
and the girls followed his example. 

An elderly nun had entered the room. Tall and 
commanding, quietly dignified in the sweeping 
black robes of her order, she greeted the new¬ 
comers. 

“I am Mother Angelica,” she told them. “I 
understand that you desire to see the convent? 
We do not usually receive tourists here.” 

Her calm eyes surveyed them unsmilingly, and 
there was little welcome in the level voice. 

“She thinks we’re simply curiosity-seekers,” 
Anne told herself. “Ordinary tourists who want 
to go home and brag, ‘Oh, yes, we got inside the 
studios at Hollywood. And we got into the Con¬ 
vent de Refugia, too, though they don’t usually 
admit the public.’ Oh, how dreadful!” 

Doctor Dick, with the same realization, spoke 
quickly. 

“We are not tourists, Reverend Mother,— 
at least, we did not come here for sightseeing. 
We have made the trip to Monterey especially 
to visit the convent.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 253 

"So? You are not of the faith, I think?’’ 

* 

"That is true, Reverend Mother, We are 
Protestants. Our purpose in coming was not a 
religious one, but—well, if you will let me ex¬ 
plain?” 

“By all means.” Mother Angelica seated her¬ 
self, very erect in the straight chair, and motioned 
her guests to do likewise. With an uncomfortable 
sense of being intruders, they complied. 

“We’ve come,” Doctor Dick began, “because 
they told us in town that this was the old Castil- 
lero rancho. We came to California expressly to 
make some inquiries about a member of the 
Castillero family. They were unable to give us 
the information we wanted at the Chamber of 
Commerce in Monterey, but they referred us to 
you.” 

The nun’s austere gaze did not soften. “I 
should be glad to help you, sir, but I fear you are 
wasting your time. The Castillero family is now 
extinct.” 

“So we were told in Monterey. But we are 
very anxious for whatever information you can 
give us about Dona Ignacia Castillero, who mar¬ 
ried a Captain Driscoll in 1849. She went East 
to live, but we understand later returned to Cali- 



254 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

fornia. Is it possible to find out whether she did 
return, and anything about her life here?” 

For a long time, it seemed to the anxious girls, 
Mother Angelica was silent. She sat unmoving, 
her hands folded in her long sleeves, her serene 
face under the white wimple showing no ripple of 
emotion. Her eyes moved from one face to the 
other, and came back to rest on Doctor Dick’s. 

At last she spoke. 

“May I ask the reason for your interest in this 
lady?” 

“I don’t believe I told you my name,” Doctor 
Dick answered. “I am Richard Driscoll. Dona 
Ignacia was my grandmother.” 

For a moment Pat thought, gleefully, that she 
was going to see Mother Angelica’s magnificent 
calm shatter into a thousand pieces. She gave a 
gasp of honest surprise, and her eyes widened. 
However, long training prevailed, and she said 
tranquilly enough, “That is strange news, sir. 
You would be the son of the child she left with her 
husband’s family?” 

Doctor Dick nodded. “You do know her story, 
then? That’s good. Then perhaps you wouldn’t 
mind telling us all we want to know? My wife 
here, and more especially my daughters, are very 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 255 

much interested in Dona Ignacia. So am I, of 
course. But it was really the girls who prompted 
our journey here, and they’re very anxious—” 

“We’re terribly anxious, Reverend Mother!” 
Pat could contain herself no longer. “You see, 
she isn’t our ancestress—we’re only Doctor Dick’s 
stepdaughters. But he didn’t even know about 
her till we discovered her. I mean, we discovered 
her trunk first, with all her pretty Spanish 
clothes, and we wanted to find out all about her. 
And when we heard that she was supposed to 
have disappeared, and no one ever knew what 
happened to her—well, we thought that was a 
mystery that needed solving. And we did solve 
it, my sister and I, all by ourselves. Except for 
the very last part. And we just have to know 
that, because we’ve come to feel that she was 
our friendj if you know what I mean. We le not 
just curious, we—well, we care about Dona 

Ignacia! So—” 

Pat faltered a little, but the nun’s steadfast 
eyes on her face no longer seemed discouraging. 

“Yes, my child?” she prompted. 

Pat gained confidence as she met those eyes. 
How could' she have thought this woman was 
austere and forbidding? Why, she cared about 





256 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Dona Ignacia too. It was written in her face! 

“We knew she hadn’t drowned herself, al¬ 
though Ellen thought so,” she rushed on. “And 
we promised ourselves we’d never rest until we 
found out what did happen to her. So we found 
out that she’d left a piece of needlepoint tapestry 
for her son, and we found the tapestry itself—it 
had never been given to him at all! And the tapes¬ 
try was a clue, only for a long time we didn’t know 
it. But at last we figured it out, and it led us to the 
Smugglers’ Way. That was the secret passage 
she’d used to escape, and she’d hidden the gold 
her mother sent her in it, and a letter to her son. 
My sister has the letter in her bag, Reverend 
Mother, if you’d like to read it. It said she was 
coming home, and we’ve wondered and wondered 
if she ever got here. Of course Doctor Dick was 
awfully surprised when he heard what we’d found 
out, and he was pleased, too, because of the gold. 
He’s going to do the most wonderful thing with 
it! So when he and Mother got back from Europe 
he said right away—I didn’t even have to ask!— 
that we could name our own reward. And—well, 
this is it. We asked to come to California, be¬ 
cause we can’t be really happy, my sister and I, 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 257 

until we know the end of it all. So, Reverend 
Mother, if you’ll please tell us—” 

She paused, completely out of breath. 

“You may put your mind at rest, my dear 
child,” Mother Angelica answered very gently. 
“Dona Ignacia Castillero, after a weary and 
storm-wracked voyage, reached her mother’s 
house in safety.” 

“Oh, I’m so glad!” Pat breathed. “Did you 
hear that. Sis? And—and was she happy, Rever¬ 
end Mother?” she asked timidly. “She’d suffered 
so much. I do want to know whether she found 
happiness at last.” 

A smile illuminated the nun’s pale face. “If 
you will be patient, my child, I shall answer that 
question very soon. For the moment—” she 
turned to Doctor Dick. 

“I should like you to see the convent, Dr. 
Driscoll. Since you are in part a Castillero, it 
was the home of your ancestors. I think your 
wife and daughters also will find it interesting in 
its present guise. May I have the pleasure of 
showing you through it?” 

“Thank you, Reverend Mother. We’d enjoy 
it very much. Margaret?” 




258 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“Oh, yes, that will be lovely!” Mother rose 
quickly. “I was admiring the garden from here.” 

The buildings, more extensive than they had 
realized, were low and rambling, with roofs of 
mellow red tile. They housed an orphanage and 
school. Bright-eyed little Mexican girls looked up 
shyly from their books as the visitors entered the 
school-rooms. They found older girls working in 
the vegetable garden, and the Mother Superior 
explained that the convent grew all its own vege¬ 
tables and fruits. Doctor Dick’s professional eye 
noted that the children seemed well-fed and 
happy. It was obvious that the place was man¬ 
aged with scientific efficiency as well as with true 
Christian charity. 

When they visited the small peaceful chapel 
Mother Angelica drew their attention to a large 
oil painting at the head of the passage. A vase 
of garden flowers, replaced daily with fresh ones 
by the children, she explained, bloomed before 
the portrait. 

Mother Angelica drew them closer, one hand 
resting on Pat’s shoulder. “This is Mother Maria 
Dolorosa, the Founder of our order,” she ex¬ 
plained. 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 259 

The portrait showed the face of an old woman, 
seamed and wrinkled. Head and shoulders were 
framed in the same religious habit that Mother 
Angelica wore. A realistically painted crucifix 
of great beauty glowed against the somber robes. 

But all the true beauty of the picture centered 
in the face. Great dark eyes shone with tender 
light; the lips curved in a slight smile which spoke 
of an inner peace too deep for words. Out of 
that aged face looked Love itself, a deep embrac¬ 
ing loving-kindness as wide as the world it en¬ 
compassed. 

Mother moved to Anne’s side. “It’s the face 
of a saint,” she whispered softly. 

The gentle pressure on Pat’s shoulder tight¬ 
ened ; she looked up to meet the nun’s smile. 

“You asked me a question, my child, which I 
have not yet answered. This was painted six 
months before her death. Should you say that 
she had found happiness?” 

“She?” Pat started. “But you don’t mean— 
what do you mean, Reverend Mother? This 
this isn’t—” 

“Yes, my dear. Mother Maria Dolorosa, our 
sainted Founder, was known to the world as Dona 
Ignacia Castillero.” 


260 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

Mother Angelica paused, innocently enjoying 
the stupefaction which had fallen upon her audi¬ 
ence. 

“Before giving you the information you de¬ 
sired,” she went on, “I wanted you to see for 
yourselves the fruits of her work. And now, if 
you will return to the parlor with me, I shall be 
very happy to tell you all that you want to know. 
It is a pleasure.” 

“I myself was a Peralta, daughter of a neigh¬ 
boring family,” Mother Angelica began, when 
they were all seated in a friendly semi-circle 
again. “When I was a child I enjoyed hearing 
my mother tell of the days long gone, when old 
California was young. Dona Ignacia, called La 
Estrella, the Star of Monterey, was my mother’s 
girlhood friend. My mother grieved, as indeed 
did the entire community, when Monterey’s fair¬ 
est daughter sailed away, the wife of a strange 
young American. It was an ill-advised match, 
everyone felt, but La Estrella was accustomed 
to have her own way in all things. Alas, it was 
difficult to recognize that wilful young beauty in 
the heart-broken widow who returned to Mon¬ 
terey a few years later. It was my mother’s 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 261 

privilege to call to her attention the consolations 
of religion.” 

Mother Angelica’s eyes grew gravely sweet. 

“Dona Ignacia was not easily consoled. But 
old Dona Clara, her own mother, was ailing, 
and there was no son. Great responsibilities fell 
upon the young widow’s shoulders. There was 
not merely the administration of the rancho, but 
the operation of the gold mine which had been 
opened in her absence, bringing a flow of wealth 
undreamed of in our simple community. Dona 
Ignacia threw herself into this work, and as time 
passed she grew calmer, less resentful toward the 
Americans. She was buoyed up, too, by a strange 
hope which she confided to my mother alone. 
Some day, she felt very certain, the son whom 
she had been forced to abandon would seek her 
out. That hope was never fulfilled.” 

“But I told you why, Reverend Mother!” Pat 
put in. “He never knew anything about it. His 
grandmother didn’t give him the tapestry, and 
it was the key to everything. He never saw her 
letter, or found the gold—oh, it’s perfectly tragic! 
He lived and died in the house with them, and 
never knew. He’d have come if he’d had the 
chance, wouldn’t he, Doctor Dick?” 



262 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

“I’m certain of that. My poor father would 
have been deeply distressed to know that he had 
failed the mother who waited for him. Have we 
told you that he is no longer living, Reverend 
Mother? But I’m afraid we’re interrupting your 
story. Please go on.” 

“My story approaches its end, Doctor Driscoll. 
The years went by, with Dona Ignacia growing 
ever soberer, quieter, taming her proud spirit to 
bear the cross laid upon it. The worldly distrac¬ 
tions which had once been so dear to her interested 
her no longer. She devoted herself more and 
more to the administration of the rancho. Finally, 
in middle life, she took her decision. Her mother 
had passed away, leaving the family property 
in her hands. She offered the rancho to the 
church, endowing it richly from the sale of the 
mine. The church accepted it as a home for the 
religious order she desired to found. With a hand¬ 
ful of devoted young women she began her work 
among the children of the Mexican laborers, 
whose poverty and ignorance had touched her 
heart. Her labors were blessed, and her life was 
a long and fruitful one. She entered into repose 
early in the new century, but her spirit lives 
eternally in the work she began.” 


MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 263 

Doctor Dick cleared his throat, but his voice 
was a little husky still as he said, “Thank you 
very much, Reverend Mother. I—about all I can 
say is that I’m very proud of being her grandson.” 

At Mother Angelica’s request they remained 
for tea at the convent. It was served in the 
parlor, where they were joined by the pleasant, 
intelligent Sister in charge of the school, and by 
Sister Eustacia, a trained nurse. Sister Eustacia, 
who looked after the health of the orphans, knew 
of Sir James Hodson’s work with crippled chil¬ 
dren, and was keenly interested in Doctor Dick’s 
proposed clinic. 

“And to think that the hand of our sainted 
Founder is in all this!” she marvelled. “For I 
understand that it is the gold from de Refugia 
which will support your work? And it is from 
that same generous source that our work here is 
carried on! In two widely separated places the 
needs of the suffering little ones will be met, be¬ 
cause of her great goodness. But surely it seems 
to me that we have here a miracle.” Her eyes 
sought Mother Angelica, who nodded gravely. 

“That is well spoken, Sister. Yet it is only 
fresh proof of what we know well; that true good- 



264 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

ness never dies, but constantly multiplies itself 
to enrich the lives of men unto eternity.” 

The talk turned to Doctor Dick’s further plans, 
and Pat glanced meaningly at her sister. Un¬ 
noticed—or did Mother Angelica’s eyes follow 
them smilingly?—the two sisters slipped from 
their chairs and stole quietly along the dim cor¬ 
ridor to the spot where the picture hung, its 
serene smile awaiting them. 

“You do understand, Sis!” Pat squeezed her 
hand. “We had to say goodby to her, didn’t we? 
She may be their sainted Founder, but to us 
she’s just poor little Dona Ignacia, that we’ve 
cried over and worried about—” 

“We’ll never have to do that again,” Anne 
smiled. “Isn’t it odd how things work out? I’d 
imagined all sorts of things for her, but never 
this. And yet—why, I don’t know that I could 
have planned a better ending. Could you?” 

“I suppose not,” Pat said thoughtfully. “I 
would have liked her son to come to her, but 
there’s no use wishing that now. If he had come, 
when he was twenty-one—oh, I don’t know. He 
was pretty much what his grandmother had made 







MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 265 


him by that time, and he mightn’t have liked it 
here—” 

“And even if he did!” Anne interrupted. ”It 
was a thrilling, glamorous life they lived on the 
old ranchos, but it was certainly a selfish one. 
Dances and parties and horse-racing—that was 
the life Dona Ignacia was brought up to. It’s 
the life she’d have offered to her son, if he wanted 
it. And if he had—well, I don’t believe she’d have 
looked like this in her old age, do you?” Her 
eyes wandered to the saintly old face. 

“No, and all the good she did for the little 
Mexicans wouldn’t have been done—oh, I don’t 
know, Sis. It’s no use talking about what might 
have happened. I’m beginning to believe that 
there’s something in what Ellen says, that what¬ 
ever does happen happens for the best. Even 
though it’s pretty hard to see it sometimes.” 

“I’m sure there’s something in it,” Anne an¬ 
swered. “Why, just look at the things that have 
happened to us! Starting away back with your 
broken arm. We thought that was a terrible mis¬ 
fortune, and it brought us Doctor Dick, and— 
well, everything important that’s happened since! 
And going to stay at Four Chimneys—we 





266 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

couldn’t have dreamed of all that that would 
lead to.” 

“I know. It makes you feel funny when you 
try to figure all those things out, doesn’t it? I 
can almost be glad I broke my arm—I could do 
that better if I could forget how it hurt! And 
I’m certainly glad we went to Four Chimneys. 
It’s strange to think that it’s to be sold, and we’ll 
never see it again.” 

“That rather saddens me, too, though it 
shouldn’t. Mr. Huntingdon says Doctor Dick 
was awfully lucky to get that offer for it. The 
next time we see Brooklyn Heights there’ll be 
an ultra-modern stream-lined apartment house 
on our corner. How Cousin Julia will hate it!” 

“Yes, poor darling, she’s terribly indignant 
about the ‘squatters’—that’s what she calls the 
people who put up modern buildings in the 
neighborhood. It has to come, though. Houses 
like Four Chimneys and Cousin Julia’s simply 
haven’t any place in a modern world. One of 
these days we’ll go back and find everything 
new.” 

“Oh, we’ll go back a lot of times before that 
happens,” Anne laughed. “We’ve promised 
Cousin Julia to visit her next summer, you know. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 267 

And the next and the next, I shouldn’t wonder. 
We’re pretty popular around there just now, 
kiddie. Bless her heart, she’s a dear old thing, 
even if she did frighten you half out of your wits 
to begin with.” 

“Yes, she’s sweet—I was sorry to say goodby 
to her. Do you think Dougal and Ellen will be 
homesick for Four Chimneys, Sis? They lived 
there so long.” 

“Just a little bit, I expect. But they’re go¬ 
ing to love it in Middletown when they get settled 
there. Doctor Dick says he wouldn’t have any¬ 
one but Ellen for the housekeeper of his new 
hospital, and Dougal will be a treasure with the 
little cripples. He’s so patient, and so kind and 
his own lame knee will help him to know how 
they feel. It’ll be grand having him and Ellen 
near us, won’t it? I’ll not miss the old house so 
much, since we’re keeping them. I wonder if 
they’ll tear up the Smugglers’ Way when they 

build the new apartment?” 

“I shouldn’t wonder. The old cellars won’t be 
any use to them,” Anne said absently. Pat, 
honey, you don’t mind if I give Dona Ignacia’s 
letter to Mother Angelica, do you? She asked 
me for it, when I let her read it a while ago. 


268 MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 

They’d like to have it for the convent library. I 
told her I’d have to talk to you about it.” 

“No, of course I don’t mind. I can’t read it 
anyway. I’m going to keep your translation, 
though. And we have the tapestry. We’ll keep 
that always. It’ll be useful in convincing our 
grandchildren that we didn’t make it all up, when 
we sit in the chimney-corner and tell them this 
whole amazing story. Just think, Sis!” Pat gave 
a little sigh. “It’s all over, the adventures and 
discoveries. All we have left is a story to tell— 
and it’s awfully hard to get anyone to believe it 
now. What’ll it be when we’re old and gray, and 
all the gold has been spent? No one will believe 
that it ever happened.” 

“Well, we know it happened, dear. We’ve 
followed it from the beginning to the very end.. 
And—and this is the end, Pat. They’re waiting 
for us out there. Say your goodby to Mother 
Maria Dolorosa, honey.” 

Pat lifted sober eyes to meet the dark ones of 
the portrait. Tender and sweet, they smiled back 
at her. With shaking hands, she rearranged the 
spray of fresh flowers, placed there by some 
orphan child who owed her health and happiness 
to the bereft mother of the picture. 



MYSTERY AT FOUR CHIMNEYS 269 

“Goodby,” Pat whispered. “It’s all—every¬ 
thing’s all straightened out now. We’ve tried to 
do what you wanted done. And—and she tried 
too, at the last. You won’t forget that, will you? 
It all came right in the end. So—so rest in peace, 
little Dona Ignacia that used to be!” 


THE END 

























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